


Ephemeral Verisimilitude - A Klexos Story

by Lyonface



Series: Klexos - AU!Inquisition Series [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:49:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5789479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyonface/pseuds/Lyonface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thrown into a dungeon after the Inquisitor's demise at the hands of Alexius, Solas struggles to find the means to escape from his prison under the Redcliffe Castle. After spending days outside of the Fade, he is pulled into one of Fenris's dreams. Resolving to find a way out that allows himself and his comrade in arms to escape, Solas spends his time searching the Fade for ways to escape and finding comfort in his friend. He will find a way out, and he will rescue Fenris, he <i>has</i> to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**This story takes place during the Red Lyrium future, part of which is explored during Chapter 6 of the main story,[Klexos](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5496974/chapters/12699344).**

**I encourage you to read at least up until Chapter 7 of the main story to get a baring on what has happened previously before beginning this short story.  
**

* * *

 

 

            Imprisonment was never a part of the plan. But then, what exactly had been a part of the plan that had succeeded so far? He’d awoken to a terrible world, rendered in its half-woken state, separating everyone from themselves in the Fade, all thanks to him. His orb had been taken by a monster he’d underestimated, and the Inquisitor had been slain by underdeveloped magic that was, again, thanks to his folly. For all his knowledge and experience, it seemed that it was useless when it came to affording him good decisions; all it landed him was a world full of ignorance and a jail cell.

            Solas sighed loudly as he hit his head in frustration on the wall behind him. He had wrought a terrible fate, one that he could scarcely comprehend at the time of waking, and still had trouble discerning even now. Alexius had taken himself and Fenris captive after Dorian and Lothriel had been murdered. Even combined they were not a match for him and his eventual back up. He had had no way to counter the time distorting spell, and he and Fenris had all but been frozen, waiting for their capture. Magebane had been forced down his throat when his struggling was not enough to break through the soldier’s ranks, resulting in him sitting in semi-consciousness for the better part of a week once he was imprisoned. His mana was still so weak, and he knew that they were likely to feed the substance to him one way or another to keep him this way. Why they didn’t just kill him he had no idea, but if their paranoia in jailing him gave him any chance of escape, he would accept it for now.

            Citizens were being kept in his cellblock at the moment, no one of any import as far as he could tell. He had not seen or heard of Fenris since they arrived. The warrior had made a valiant attempt at Alexius, roaring like a beast and launching at the magister in the great effort to keep his freedom intact. But when he was caught in the time spell as well, they had used his brands to all but incapacitate him. The sounds that wracked that man… Solas shuddered at the memory.

            He grimaced and rubbed at his brow, glaring at his knees. Another that he had failed, as it were. Funny that he would spend many of his years freeing slaves from their masters only to accompany one now that he was not able to keep free. Perhaps he would escape as he did before, though this was not a place that the former slave was presumably familiar with, nor would escaping from a castle be the same as escaping a magister’s manor. All things considered, they were both prisoners, at least for the time being.

            The elf rolled his shoulders and stood on bare feet, padding over to the bars to peer into the cells he could see. Hinterlanders, largely, with none of the mage or templar rebels encaged here. What they were doing with them down here was anyone’s guess, but he didn’t want to consider the possibilities. The din of quiet weeping, pleading, and moaning was almost constant, and they marked simple people with simple lives, now rid of what little they had.

            It was unlikely, but the Inquisition could potentially barter to get himself and Fenris out. Now that the Inquisitor was gone, their figurehead defeated, the organization would likely crumble if someone did not replace her. Even then, the Herald of Andraste being murdered so easily by a Tevinter magister would shake confidence to its roots, especially since it mirrored the martyrdom of the woman the Herald invoked. The event was likely enough to destroy the movement, over time. Therefore, it was unlikely that the organization would be any help in freeing them.

            His knees wobbled as he stood and he caught himself, grasping the iron bars before he could collapse. The magebane kept him from entering the Fade, but it had been wearing off for the last few days. He was restless, too, and barely able to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. On top of that, food had only been distributed a few times since he was imprisoned. The combination of lack of food, sleep, and being cut off from the only place that gave him any solace was beginning to affect him. The Venatori were probably taking in more people than they had the means to feed. Fantastic. That meant the Hinterlands was all but lost, and so was the settlement they’d built to help the locals protect themselves from the mage and templar rebellion.

            Carefully and slowly, he let go of the bars as he backed up, immediately putting one hand against the wall he was leaning against before. He coughed and patted his chest, the regular weight of the jawbone missing. They had confiscated it, under the assumption that it had been charmed or assisted him in magical properties. By now they’d probably learned it wasn’t and destroyed it and he gritted his teeth at the thought. Another small comfort gone.

            His weak body was unsympathetic to his melancholy and began to give underneath him. He turned the rest of the way so his back leaned against the wall again, and slid down the stone to sit on the hard ground underneath him. After a moment he sighed, sputtering into a short cough as he groaned. He pulled his hand from his side and flexed his fingers, closing his eyes and concentrating. The veil seemed fairly normal here, if a little rough from being pulled by the mages within the castle. The more they pushed it, the thinner it would become, and the easier it would be for him to concentrate beyond it. That, if anything, was a positive about the situation. He cupped his hand and pulled his eyebrows down, keeping his eyes closed as he concentrated. A faint buzz and he glanced down. A small, purple spark lit in his hand and flickered for a few seconds before going out.

            Huffing loudly, the elf leaned his head against the wall again. It was better than earlier, but not by much. He was frankly shocked that the magebane had even worked, given how different his magic was from any of those that were deemed “mages” in this world. It had implications that he wasn’t willing to entertain, but if anything, all of this only solidified his need to erase this world like he had planned. Fat lot of good a lofty goal like that will do him when he was just another knife ear in a prison cell.

            The prison door containing the two rows of cells opened and he stilled, listening and attentive, his cell block going silent as well. Then a sudden eruption of pleading and scrambling at shaking gilding, the scared poor scrambling at their captors in an effort to have their pleas heard. Solas didn’t move, he knew better. Pleading did nothing, and he was not named Pride for nothing. They would get no groveling from him.

            The smell of food permeated to his cell now and his body stiffened, his stomach immediately lurching, his brain spurring him to go towards it. No. He would not give in to it. If they were to bring food, they would do it no matter his begging.

            A shadow passed into his cell, the dim light of the dungeon just bright enough to cast long shadows for those that entered. Solas turned to see a Venatori soldier in full garb, covered in white and brown cloth, the metal of his armor dark, even against the candle light. He was indeed carrying food, or at least whatever they were making that would pass as sustenance.

            “Is the little _rattus_ hungry?” he sneered, his Free Marches accent flattening out his vowels.

            Solas glanced from the man’s helmed face, to the food, then back to his face. He would not act subservient, but even the smallest of cues could afford him favor and keep his self-respect intact.

            It worked. The soldier chuckled and moved to give him one of the plates, then hesitated. He seemed to look between the one he held in one hand then the ones in his arms. He switched plates and pushed it through a horizontal space at the bottom.

            “Eat up, vermin,” he sneered before turning and distributing food across from his cell and to the rest of the block. There were not enough plates for everyone here.

            Solas reached out and took the plate, sliding it over to himself. Some kind of soup and a small piece of stale bread. It would do. He lifted the bowl and removed the bread, a somewhat sour smell emanating from the dish. He ignored it and ate it quickly, no spoon making it difficult to consume, but the bread helped, in any case.

            With a fuller belly than he’d had in days, he pushed the dish to the narrow opening of the door and shuffled to the corner. The warn, dirty bedroll that had been there when they threw him in here lay open. He had shrugged off his outer coat and put it down for some semblance of comfort against whomever had been here however long ago. After rubbing at his face, he lay down and attempted to sleep once again.

            With a breath, he opened his eyes to be greeted by the Fade. The sensations, the smells, all whirled around and through him, as if welcoming him back from his stay. Perhaps he was being kept in a dank cell in the pit of an overrun castle, but at least here he was not barred.

            He was still in the castle, there was little to be done about that, but he could feel, taste the memories teeming within the walls, the fire, and the tapestries of the castle itself. Castles were always overflowing with interesting memories, watching the composed aristocratic families behind the noble visages that they showed to their followers and seeing the people that they truly were behind closed doors. It was not quite as interesting as the forgotten song of an army whose memory died centuries ago, or the cataclysmic events that shook empires, but sometimes even the small dramas could escalate and grow beyond the reach of those who began it, like throwing a pebble into a pond and being none the wiser of the waves it would create further away from its banks when left unchecked.

            He walked the halls, catching shadows and shapes playing out old events in his mind’s eye. He saw a smiling elven servant attempt to cover up her blush with a serving tray as she spoke with the king behind a dark corner, only to be given away by the tips of her ears darkening under his flirtatious quips. He watched as cooks bustled, covered in flour and cornmeal in the kitchens as they readied a feast for Orlesian aristocrats, sputtering irritated slander and vulgar slurs behind the backs of their country’s guests. A young boy ran through the halls and ducked into his room, slamming the door behind him. Solas peered into the room and saw the blonde sulking. A man tried to call to him and calm him down, but the boy petulantly yelled, and in the wake of his grief, ripped off a pendant and threw it against the opposite wall, only to tear off the bed a moment later and mourn his actions.

            Extracting himself from the memory, Solas continued to mill about the halls and various rooms. He recognized the Hero of Ferelden and Alistair as they spoke to Arl Eamon and Arl Teagan about heading to Denerim to attack the arch demon once and for all. Solas had witnessed the battle at Ostagar before meeting up with the Inquisition, and he had a growing interest in seeing the events that the Hero took part in. Surely her actions would become legends and exaggerated to extravagance, just the same as those before her, and he vastly enjoyed the truth to the fanciful tales that would last far beyond the Hero’s life.

            Moving along, he saw two conspicuous figures move through a doorway. Interested, he moved through the doorway and made his way down into, he realized too late, the torture chambers. The pain and anger of the place overwhelmed him, the emotions much more magnified and palpable here in the Fade, where they sat and played out over and over again. The screams and cries brought bile up the back of his throat and he turned hastily to leave before a sensation halted him. It was a pull on him, a sense to guide him in a direction within the Fade. He frowned, this rarely ever occurred, only when someone or something wished to speak to him or see him, like receiving a letter with a geas attached upon reading it. His skin tingled with anticipation at the idea. Perhaps there were spirits here that he could yet consult, to see if he would be able to find a means of escaping after all, and so quickly! It was unprecedented.

            Blocking out the sounds around him, he straightened into an easy standing position, his shoulders relaxed as he breathed in deep, and out as he held his hands loosely in front of him. He slid his eyes closed and let the Fade take him where it willed, the sensation of his surroundings muting as he was moved, leaving that awful place behind. Feelings, voices, and smells rushed past him faster than he could register them as he was moved to his sender, the being that wished for his presence.

            On his next inhale, it stopped. He felt his feet settling onto cold, hard, segmented flooring. There was a warm hearth to his right and the faint smell of decay and blood. He opened his eyes and looked about. He was in a room with broken blue tiling on the floor, a few wooden benches, tables and chairs, but otherwise sparsely furnished. A window on the back wall to his right had the drapes pulled back, light streaming in from the sunny day outside. The noise of civilization was filtering in softly from the outside, gentle like the breeze and sunshine that filtered into this dilapidated homestead.

            He heard a shuffle and turned to face the chairs again. It took him a moment but he recognized them immediately, the shock of white hair and pale lines emblazoned on their flesh. It was Fenris.

            He hesitated, surprised that he had been pulled to Fenris’s memory, of all people. The former slave had not noticed him and sat deep in the chair, staring at the dark wine bottle he had anchored on his knee, deep in thought. The other elf took the opportunity to survey him. He looked different, not as he had become accustomed to since meeting him out on the Storm Coast. His hair was chopped and short, shaggy in a low cut of bangs over his eyes and an unkempt neckline. He wore an outfit he didn’t recognize either, a plain brown tunic with steel pieces of armor, spiked gauntlets and bracers, strapped to him with odd-looking leather straps that traveled up his arms to his shoulders. The chestguard he recognized, but everything else was odd, down to the feather motif along his shoulders and in his gauntlets. He grimaced, realizing that there was a very high possibility that they were the clothes he wore as a slave, or some of it was. The strange sleeves deliberately showed off his muscular arms and the markings emblazoned into them, either for intimidation or…easy reach.

            He pushed himself away from the mantle of the fireplace and walked over to the other elf, quite certain that this was either a memory or a dream disguised as one. He recalled the elf saying that most of his memories came in his sleep, but it was unlikely that they came without some sort of distortion through the Fade.

            Fenris moved and looked at Solas, his eyebrows drawn low down his brow. Recognition did not come to his features as he looked up and down the elf.

            A dream then.

            “Good evening,” Solas beckoned, inclining his head and clasping his hands behind his back.

            Fenris took a moment before leaning back in his seat, a slight amount of understanding alighting his eyes now. “Somniari.”

            Ah, there it is. He recognized him after all.

            Solas looked about the room pointedly before looking back at Fenris. “What is this place?”

            Fenris’s gaze softened for a moment as he looked at the bottle on his knee. “…I believe it is Kirkwall.”

            Solas frowned, unsatisfied with his unsure answer. “This is…where you lived?” He spied an old bloodstain in the hallway outside. Surely he hadn’t lived here for all those years.

            Frowning, the elf did not meet his gaze. “…perhaps.” Then something dawned on him and he looked at Solas square in the face. “Wait, then why are you here?”

            “Pardon?”

            “If this is Kirkwall then--,”

            A laugh rang out, as clear as a bell, filtering through the window in the back of the room. Fenris jerked and leaned over in the chair, nearly throwing himself towards the window in earnest. He squinted after turning to the light, the sun overwhelming his vision as he brought a hand up to shield his eyes before slumping back in his seat.

            After taking a moment to rub at his eyes, he continued. “If this is Kirkwall, then how are you here?” he asked, casting the apostate a weary look now. He seemed apprehensive, but what for, Solas could not determine. Perhaps discovering that they were in a dream that felt like a memory was disconcerting for him. Solas could understand that sentiment, to a degree.

            “How indeed?” he replied, looking at Fenris plainly.

            Fenris frowned and, rather than replying, drank long from the bottle he had been holding. Solas fidgeted briefly and looked away from the elf, scanning over the items in the room besides the furniture. Some papers, a book or two, apples, a lute… Could he play?

            Solas turned when Fenris sighed, taking the bottle away from his mouth and wiping at his lips with his thumb, regarding the label for a moment. Solas’s fingers twitched when he realized that he had drank the wine too quickly, a line of the beverage had made its way from the corner of his mouth down his neck, contrasting red against the pale brands that it overlapped. He looked at the bottle instead.

            Fenris rubbed at the line of wine down his neck as he put the bottom of the container against his knee once again. He spoke up, “I’ve seen this before. I’ve been here.”

            “To what are you referring?” Solas asked, his brow lowering. He clearly didn’t mean the building, he meant the dream.

            “I’ll be here, drinking…” Fenris began, looking at the window briefly, “The laugh, then…”

            The creak of a door opening echoed throughout the house, much louder than it normally should have been.

            Fenris gasped, his left hand gripping the armrest of his chair tightly as he sat up again. Solas remained silent, observing as Fenris thrust himself from the seat and bolted out of the room. The wine bottle fell to the ground and spilled, draining a small amount of its contents on to the floor.

            Solas followed him out and watched as the dark elf ran down the left side of the dual staircase, avoiding splinters and damage on lithe feet. The foyer of the building, which seemed to be a small mansion, was no better than the previous room. Even more tiling was missing from the floors, wooden flooring in drastic need of replacement, and pieces of furniture and wall-hangings in varying states of disrepair. It was not squalor, clearly it was far more room than the elf needed, but the lack of care for his surroundings was…disturbing.

            The door was opening now, the bright impenetrable light concentrated like a beam into the room. A silhouetted figure, a man with a fairly broad upperbody, stood at the entrance of the doorway.

            Fenris rounded towards the figure and reached out, moving slowly immediately after coming off the stairs. He moved as if he were being pulled down by unseen hands grasping at his ankles, then his shoulders. A sound uttered from his lips, but it died there as he cascaded towards the floor. The scene was swept away immediately as the elf collided, Fenris likely awakening from his dream.

            Solas looked about as he was largely in formless space now, the dream he was occupying now gone, the Fade was going to create some place for him to be. He sighed and did it himself, creating a simple chair in the middle of a meadow on a gentle slope. He sat down in the seat and pondered.

            Why would Fenris have wanted him in the dream? Clearly it was unconscious, since he didn’t recognize him at first, but he didn’t try and remove him either. Perhaps the small amount of camaraderie they shared was enough to make him want to see a familiar face. That seemed fairly likely, a familiar face, even if it wasn’t one that was incredibly friendly, was vastly superior to being surrounded by strangers. Violent strangers.

            He leaned back in the chair and looked towards a flicker among the flowers. A deep blue light emanated from a patch of small yellow buds, slowly peeling at the leaves on the stems.

            “ _En’an’sal’en, Abelas_ ,” Solas called, recognizing it as a spirit of sorrow. He rose from his seat and moved towards the shape.

            The spirit turned and looked behind them to see Solas, straightening immediately and cocking its head. “Hello.”

            Hm, perhaps the spirit preferred the common tongue. No matter. “My name is Solas. Might you be able to assist me?”

            Sorrow looked at the flowers again and replied, “They are pretty. You made these?”

            The elf faltered for a moment. “Yes.”

            A translucent hand pushed a few buds to and fro, as if it weren’t sure what to do with unopened flowers. “Breathing, and happy. I do not belong here.”

            Solas shook his head. “Sorrow is necessary. Without it, we could not know true happiness.”

            The vaguely person-shaped form seemed to smile. “Indeed.” A moment stretched between them before it continued. “How may I help you, Solas?”

            Solas sat down in the meadow amidst the flowers now. The spirit withdrew its hand and looked to him, expectant. Solas spoke up, “What, per chance, do you know of the castle at Redcliffe?”

            The spirit hummed, considering his question. Rather than providing an answer, it responded with a question of its own. “You seek to escape?”

            Solas nodded. Sorrow turned and fingered at one of the few open yellow flowers that encircled them. It was a long moment before it answered. “I do not know that you can.”

            Solas could not with hold his disappointment. Sorrow was rarely hopeful, but he’d met spirits that still held on to the idea of happiness, even if it was in bitter sweet retrospect. This spirit had only seen death and starvation, more than likely. It would not believe in the idea of escaping.

            “I will try nonetheless,” Solas responded. He felt a tug at him again, this time from wakefulness. A shrill, distance moan vibrated through the meadow from outside his physical body. He grimaced, trying to keep himself in the moment, but the flowers were beginning to disappear. First the purple, then the red…

            Sorrow looked at him, seemingly unperturbed by the dissolving meadow around them. “You are weak. You cannot stay anchored here.”

            The scent of the flowers began to fade, the light of a lower afternoon dying behind the mountains in the distance. More grass, the bees, the chair swept away as his concentration began to shake apart.

            “Go, I will see you again, perhaps,” Sorrow bid him farewell before fading away, a candle blown out of its own accord.

            Solas shook his head and gave in, releasing himself from the Fade.

            He opened his eyes and found a cold, unfeeling wall staring back at him. A cry had woken him up, from one of the cells near him. With a groan, he rolled over to see the prisoner across from him being taken from their cell, limp in the arms of the guards. They had given up hope already. Briefly, he wondered how long he’d slept and whether he should roll over and attempt to find Sorrow again. Resigning himself to awaken, he huffed and pushed himself into a seated position. There was little he could do outside of the Fade but wait, ponder, and regret, and he hated it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _En’an’sal’en_ \- Blessings.  
>  _Abelas_ \- Sorrow
> 
> As always, comments and critique are much appreciated. Onyona is, once again, my wonderful proof-reader. :3  
> Most Elvish will come for FenxShiral's [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/series/229061), unless I know the words off the top of my head.


	2. Chapter 2

           

            The days began to blend in together as all wakefulness gave him was continuing despair and boredom, and with no light to see the time, he was quite sure that he would lose track of the date soon. He briefly considered making impressions in the stone to count his days, but decided against it. It would only strengthen any potential hopelessness he may harbor if he were to end up looking at rows upon rows of tally marks.

            The prisoners around him were being moved about fairly regularly, most only staying for about twenty-four hours at a time before being removed and never returning. They were likely being used for blood magic, he reasoned. They were taking the citizens capture and sacrificing them for their magic, but to what end he still couldn’t be sure. Perhaps they were using them to strengthen themselves, or summon demons. The rifts didn’t need the sacrifice, but he shouldn’t be surprised if they were using it to fuel that magic. Tevinters used blood magic for almost anything they could think of, whether it was actually helpful or not. By everything he’d heard from others, blood magic was practically a sport, a way of life for them, one that only required a few extra slaves on hand that could be used as sacrifices.

            Fenris. He pressed his lips together. He wanted to find where he was, if anything to know how he could get to him when he managed to find a way to get out. The Fade rarely showed recent memories, and almost never allowed him to walk the present. He would have to get the information from spirits or Fenris himself, the former being marginally more likely than the latter.

            He barely registered as a guard came by and spooned something into the bowl that he had left at the entrance of his cell, along with a roll. He left without a word.

            Sighing, Solas took the dish and ate it quickly. It was the same thing as before he fell asleep. If they were feeding him this soon after waking, he must have been out longer than he initially accounted for. Hopefully he could start getting into a better routine with his Fade walking, especially if he wanted to find Fenris again.

            For the next few visits to the Fade, Solas largely attempted to speak to any lingering spirits that roamed the castle in an effort to collect any information he could find. Unsurprisingly, he largely ran into sorrow, rage, and fear as they clustered mainly in the prisons and lower chambers, their dissonant colors radiating in the clouded distortions of the Fade. He was hard-pressed to find a benevolent, positive spirit in the castle as he made his way around, eventually leaving the lower floors to explore the traditionally more public areas. He did come across a spirit of justice that lingered in the throne room, its bright blue eyes only just hidden by a hazy yellow outer form. Their conversation was short, however, and the spirit felt restless. It told Solas that it had lingered here for centuries, but that the new people that held the place did not know true justice. They were hurting innocents and, as the spirit seethed, distraught, its form began to vibrate in the Fade around them. The Venatori were distorting him, the elf realized fairly quickly, and unwittingly. If the situation weren’t so dire, he might have found it in him to laugh, albeit bitterly. At his behest, the spirit was convinced to tarry no longer, and left the castle, lest he become contorted into something different and less…beneficial.

            Solas was beginning to become frustrated. Many of the spirits here were not helpful, not in the way of information, and it was beginning to rub him down. He largely received vague descriptions of personal agony and loss, but very little on the inner workings of the castle, or how any locations really bled into one another in terms of assisting escape. He could certainly walk the castle itself, but its interior, and likely exterior, were constantly shifting between time periods. He may find a secret passageway that was once used for runners, but it could have been bricked up hundreds of years ago. Despite his insistence of urgency, however, the spirits found recollecting the facets of architecture to him to be of little import. Huffing in frustration as he pressed his arms to his sides, he gave up on asking the spirits for now. Perhaps Fenris would help him in some way, any way he could.

            As he considered it, he willed himself to Fenris’s location in the Fade. He knew that the elf didn’t particularly appreciate his company necessarily, and there was a large possibility that he would be unable to help as well, but most anything was better than sitting with moping spirits who essentially refused to assist him. When his surroundings finally halted, he looked around.

            He was not in the mansion from before. Instead he stood on the shore of a long, winding beach. The sun was high and hot, the white sands bright under the intense light overhead. Fenris sat on a large, sharp boulder that jutted out of the water not far from where the tide met the sands. He was clad in the armor Solas had become accustomed to, the white and gold pauldrons shimmering against the light reflecting from the ocean as he was looking out over the horizon. He looked relaxed, as he had before, so perhaps they were still in Kirkwall.

            Rolling his shoulders, Solas started walking up the shore towards the other elf. The sea spray was strong, the gulls overhead calling back and forth as they hunted for fish just under the surface of the green sea. This place was much better than the dingy mansion, and Solas found that he might want to visit this place at some point in time, perhaps, when they escaped.

            Solas stopped at the water’s edge as Fenris turned to look at him, looking down the relatively flat surface of the jagged rock that he sat atop, his feet dangling over the edge towards the water. His green eyes were sharper here than in the mansion, likely due to the lack of intoxication and, the mage noticed, a distinct clarity of lucidity.

            “You return,” he said, dryly.

            Solas humphed, a bit put off by his tone. His arms were tight to his sides as he rolls his head slightly to the side. “Would you prefer I go?”

            Fenris turned away and looked across the bank, Solas following his line of sight. Far on the edge, just out of sight, there was what looked like a small pier with boats tied to it. The heat waves dancing across the ocean made it difficult to see, but it was certainly there. The clarity of the scene was very impressive for one who couldn’t manipulate the Fade, Solas decided. He was confident that if he walked to the pier, that he could hear the faint tug of the ropes tethering the vessels in place, and the gentle slosh of salt water brushing against their hulls.

            “No,” the other man finally admitted.

            Solas nodded and jumped on to the rock to make his way up towards Fenris’s seat. The stone was pleasantly warmed from the sun, just on the verge of being uncomfortably hot to his bare soles. He sat himself not far from Fenris, his own feet perched on the edge of the rock as he laid his arms across his knees. “Where are we now?” he inquired, looking back at the blunt forest that began not too far from the sands of the beach, easily within watching distance.

            The other man’s deep, familiar voice rang out beside him. “The Free Marches, a nondescript beach,” he answered, still not looking at Solas. Solas turned to him as he looked at the tied boats in the distance, his jaw set, serious, but calm. “I took that ferry to get to Ferelden.”

            “Ah, I see,” Solas mumbled, looking at the boats again. “Significantly more comfortable than Kirkwall, hm?”

            The other elf shrugged but otherwise didn’t extrapolate. They didn’t speak for a time, the sea waves and gulls a pleasant background noise to break the silence and set the atmosphere. The silence seemed comfortable, Solas noted. Perhaps it was the venue, a place where Fenris had been free and on his own for years, or the effects of a friendly face, as he pondered the last time he was in one of his dreams. Hopefully a mix of the two.

            “Your pendant, it is missing.”

            Solas looked at Fenris to meet his eyes, a stern look on the darker elf’s face. The mage hesitated a moment, absent-mindedly reaching for it, his fingers only meeting his green under shirt. He knitted his eyebrows before speaking, “Yes. They took it, likely thinking I used it to draw magic or otherwise enhance it.”

            Fenris hummed, breaking eye contact to look where the pendant normally would be. He looked curious now when he met his eyes again. “It is not?”

            Solas chuckled, sliding his feet off the edge of the rock to let them hang over the edge, the sea spray hitting the soles of his feet now. He anchored himself by putting his hands on both sides of him. “No, I simply liked it. Not everything I do is to better my magic.”

            Fenris hummed in recognition, looking at Solas for another moment before bringing his arms up and beginning to undo his gauntlets. “We are in a dream, if you are here,” he declared, changing the subject.

            He was much more lucid than Solas originally anticipated he would be. It surprised him, and was a bit of a relief. Attempting to communicate with people deep in the confines of a dream tended to be equal parts frustrating and fruitless.

            “You are correct,” he admitted.

            Something in his tone must have been strange, as Fenris shot him a weird look while he pulled the gauntlet off his left hand.

            Solas mirrored his look, “I am…surprised,” he admitted, inclining his head with a small flex of his brow. “Most are rarely lucid while they dream. You didn’t seem to be aware of the dream when we were in the mansion before. At least, you were not at first.”

            Fenris pulled back the corner of his mouth as he sat the gauntlet behind him and got to work on the other one, turning his eyes away. “No. That dream is always the same. Your presence did not change that.” His tone was flat, as if repeating a fact that he had come to accept a long time ago, but still disliked it even now.

            The apostate regarded the other man for a moment as he loosened the buckle around his scarred forearm. A recurrent dream that he experiences over and over in a house that he barely remembers and meeting a figure he can’t recall. He wonders idly when he began having it, and who it was that opened the door to the homestead. Clearly their identity is what was bothering him, if it was not due to the dream being one of many memories that taunted him, just out of his reach. If they were still with the Inquisition...maybe… He shook his head of the thought immediately. There was no point in dwelling on what could have been. The point was to make it happen in the future.

            “I’m surprised, myself,” Fenris continued pulling the other gauntlet off and setting it behind him with the other. He straightened his arms out in front of him and flexed his fingers out, the lines from his forearms meeting in two lines that ran up each hand, drawing a line through the middle of his pointer and middle fingers. “I have been to the Fade before, consciously. It was an unpleasant experience and it didn't feel like this,” he elaborated before putting his hands back down to rest loosely in his lap.

            This information piqued Solas’s curiosity. “Oh? Why did you go willingly?”

            Wearing a consternated expression, Fenris rubbed at his forehead, the triangulated dots there exposed from his hair being pulled back into a loose, haphazard bun rather than the braid he normally wore. His rough voice came out unsure. “I’m…not sure. I believe we were there to help another like you, another dreamer. There were demons… I…betrayed someone.”

            This world was not without other fade walkers, Solas was aware of that. Fenris having met one and helping them, however, was astonishing and rather unprecedented. There was nothing that suggested that Fenris would willingly go into the Fade and risk possession for anyone, except for perhaps Varric. He did not appear to have experienced possession, or be under a geas of a demon. “You do not appear to have made a pact with a demon.”

            Fenris threw an irritated look at him now, his upper lip curling on one side. “No, it…was a challenge. It did not possess me,” then after looking away he growled, “I was weak.”

            He’s not sure what prompted him, but the mage felt the need to comfort him and assuaged the doubts the elf felt for his own countenance. “You had likely never encountered a demon before,” he pointed out, “Even those with training can still fall victim to them.”

            “Yet you have no formal training, and you do not practice blood magic or the like,” Fenris retorted, gesturing to Solas as he rebuffed the attempt at comfort.

            No training, no, but thousands of years of experience typically lends itself just the same. Solas simply shrugged, “Experience tends to lend itself better as a teacher than formal lessons rooted in doctrine and dogma, I find.” Without thinking he added, “I could teach you, if you’d like.”

            Fenris’s eyes changed, looking at Solas as if he’d suggested they could dance at an Orlesian ball for fun, assassins be damned. “We are imprisoned. How will that help?”

            “By a tevinter cult, who is constantly using blood magic and likely summoning demons to fuel their power,” the mage retorted.

            Fenris scowled and looked away, his eyes resting back on the sea. The sun was descending now, the sky holding the slightest tinge of orange as it spread over the rolling waves of the ocean.

            Speaking of the Venatori… “Where are they holding you?”

            Fenris tensed but didn’t move to look back at Solas. He pulled one of his knees up and leaned against it, staring out over the water towards the ferry, his right arm draped over it. “How should I know?”

            “You cannot see from your cell?” Solas asked, perplexed. He projected confusion, but a sinking feeling in his gut told him that he already knew the answer, before they had even been captured in the first place.

            Fenris laughed dryly, his eyes flashing to the elf for a brief moment before turning back to the pier. “You really think they’d just throw someone like me in a dungeon cell?”

            Solas swallowed thickly, his expression turning serious, if a bit defensive. No, he hadn’t, but he had hoped that they may not have known what to do with him, or that he was perchance being moved about the castle. Anything at all that could help them find a way out.

            “Why do you want to know? Planning on escaping?” Fenris asked, angry heat in his tone now. He was upset and avoided looking at the other elf sitting next to him.

            “Eventually, yes,” Solas responded, his tone clipped. “And I would very much like to bring you with me when I do.”

            Fenris exhaled sharply, an upset expression knitting his eyebrows as he worried the fingers of his right hand. His eyes weren’t as sharp as before, there was something in them. “Why?” he asked, doubtful.

            Solas narrowed his eyes. Did he think he cared so little as to leave him to be tortured and used by people that have sought to keep him in that position his entire life? “I will not leave you behind.”

            Fenris glanced at him, unconvinced, either of his reasoning or his declaration. He inhaled deeply and released a long sigh before answering. “I believe I’m in the…chambers.”

            Solas closed his eyes and worked to keep his face neutral. When he realized it wasn’t working, he brought his hand up to cover his mouth, resting his chin against his palm with his long fingers covering his lips. They were not asking him for information.

            “Mana,” he finally said into his hand, his tone more upset than he had intended, ending with a shaky breath.

            Fenris turned his palm towards himself and looked at it, flexing his fingers, one line for each etched from his fingertips all the way to his wrist. He made a fist a few times, his brands pale but otherwise dim, normal. “Yes.”

            The mage leaned forward, peering over his knees down into the rocky waters underneath them, the tide beginning to rise as it hit up against the jagged precipice. He could not get out of the cell to the torture chambers. He could not get him out of there. None of the spirits he spoke to had mentioned him, or anything like that happening in the castle. Perhaps they didn’t know what to make of it, or simply could do nothing about it, and it added to their despair. If he was not sure of his own location, that also meant that he wasn’t being moved around the castle. He lived in the chamber they…

            Fenris’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “There is no need for you to agonize over it. You can’t do anything,” his tone was short, frustrated. Was Solas’s desire to help him that irritable to the warrior?

            The mage looked over and gritted his teeth, moving his hand away from his face now. “No? You are in enough agony for the both of us, so I should not be concerned?” he fired back.

            Fenris’s green eyes expanded for a moment, as if he’d been slapped before snapping them shut, looking away from the mage towards the setting sun. The sky was yellow and orange now, the sea a dark expanse of water under the reflection of the brilliant, fiery orb. The sun’s light blanketed everything, making Fenris’s hair and pauldrons appear light orange under its glare, his clothing nearly black in the shadows untouched by the sun.

            Solas sighed, regretting his words now. He should not have reacted angrily. All he was doing was alienating the only person close to a “friend” that he had in this forsaken place. Fenris was in a much worse situation than he was, as well, and all this would do is hurt him further, isolate him in a place that already afforded him no comforts.

            “The Fade,” Fenris spoke up, turning slowly so that the two elves could make tentative eye contact. “How much control do you have over it?”

            Solas wasn’t entirely sure how he should answer that question. He would not outright lie, but he couldn’t tell the complete truth either, like most things. Carefully, he answered, “Enough. I can change my surroundings and can find individuals that are present here. However, I have no control over memories I see, nor the spirits that I meet here. Or rather, I have the power to influence spirits, but I do not do it.”

            Fenris considered that for a moment, leaning his head on to his arm, which was still strewn across his knee. It was…kind of cute.

            Flustered at the direction of his thoughts, Solas pressed his lips together and pulled his gaze away, bringing his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms loosely around them. He stared over at the pier, even more difficult to see now that the sun was setting. The boats were just barely visible, shining in dim oranges against the darkening sky. He wondered, considering the typical clichés of dreams, if the dream would end when the sun set, or by some other means.

            He heard Fenris shuffle beside him and turned. He saw the elf leaning over and looking down at the water beneath them, his legs now dropped to dangle down.

            “Can you end my dream?” he asked, continuing to look into the waters below.

            “No,” Solas answered quickly, “though I can change the parameters of a dream once I’m within it.”

            Fenris looked at him, an eyebrow raised in either speculation or interest, or both. Defiance shined in his irises, and Solas wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

            “All right, change something.”

            Solas closed his eyes and couldn’t help but smile a little bit. It felt exactly like when someone learned he could paint and they told him to “make something.”

            He looked out over the beach. He rather enjoyed this location, but if the warrior wanted a demonstration of his abilities, he would happily oblige. He closed his eyes and envisioned a new scene. Greenery, wooded flatlands decorated with elven statues, monuments, and art. The high trees hosted cozy homes nestled within the branches, twinkling crystal entwining with the deciduous branches and leaves. The sun light poured in beams through the canopy, dotting the high grass beneath them to highlight small patches of white wildflowers that were sprinkled along the grounds. Rather than a jagged crag, they rested on a tall statue of a halla, its head bowed towards the ground to graze, but with a reverent beauty that only those creatures were capable of. The breeze was gentle and high, only a small disturbance of air around them to keep the scent of coming rain and woodlands moving around the pair.

            He opened his eyes and looked at Fenris who was struck with what seemed like a mixture of wonder and fear. His fingers gripped the stone of the carved figure beneath them as if to hold on to it for fear that it may vanish as he narrowed his eyes to look at the details of the scene before them. Solas was sure that his first instinct would be to run, and that he would need to fight it to keep in place. It was a struggle he was likely familiar with. Solas turned to the twining crystal, the milky translucent rocks glinting with flashes of pink and blue, wanting to will away the thought that had snuck, unwanted, into his brain to ruin his feeling of pride in his work.

            “This is…” Fenris began, trailing off as he seemed to try to find the right word for what he was seeing, what he was experiencing. He finally settled on, “unexpected.”

            Solas grinned and looked over to him, chuckling under his breath. “I would imagine it would be. This is similar to some of what I’ve seen of the ancient elves in the Fade. I have seen cities, but I always enjoyed seeing the high villages in the wooded areas. They are…simpler, clean, and hold an elegance that I have yet to see repeated elsewhere.” He aimed for reverence rather than nostalgia in his voice, and was quite sure he’d succeeded.

            It was a few minutes before either of them spoke again, Solas allowing Fenris to look at everything from their perch on the statue. The breeze picked up for a moment, gentle sound reverberating, like a deep thrumming sound, as the branches of the trees rocked against the crystals that grew to pierce the canopy around the homes high above.

            “The ancient elves lived so high in trees?” the former slave finally asked, narrowing his eyes at the crystal within the canopy.

            “Some, but not all,” Solas replied, watching Fenris as he took it all in. This felt similar to when someone was examining one of his paintings; it was difficult for him to hide the pride he felt in his creations. It made his chest swell with joy, but also shutter in anticipation.

            The warrior turned to meet his gaze, stilled for a moment and looked away quickly.

            “It’s…very beautiful,” he finally admitted, not meeting Solas’s eyes as he looked down at the wildflowers beneath their feet.

            The mage turned and looked at the flowers as well, touched by his compliment. “Thank you.”

            A sharp intake of breath broke through the distant sounds of the forest and Solas turned sharply. Fenris was gripping the statue again, doubled over as his body shook violently. Shades of himself reverberated around his form, breaking apart. He was waking up.

            “No! I don’t want to leave!” Fenris growled, clenching the hand pressed against his middle into a fist.

            “I can’t keep you here, I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say, at a loss. This wasn’t how he had awoken last time. This was much more…violent and slow. Perhaps he was pushing back against his own rising consciousness to stay? Or he was being woken up by…other means…

            “Can you find me? Like before?” Fenris asked, his voice tight through clenched teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to will himself to stay in one place. He would fail.

            Solas nodded before realizing he couldn’t see the gesture. “Yes, yes I can find you. Think of me, and the Fade will bring me to you.”

            Fenris gasped, inhaling loudly to fill his lungs as if he were holding his breath through the pain. He turned his head up and looked up towards the sky, his fist still pressed against his lower chest, as if he were listening to something coming from above. “All right,” he whispered before his frame shook and he disappeared, his spirit evaporating from the Fade and into the waking world, leaving Solas far more dissonant than he had expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critique are very welcome! As always, Onyona is my wonderful editor/resident cheerleader. <3


	3. Chapter 3

            Solas rested under the shade of a thin, twisted tree, its canopy shallow and flat as it spread wide from the top of its trunk. The sun overhead was bright and warm, thin streams of long, wispy clouds slowly drifted above against a deep blue sky. A constant, gentle breeze settled over the flat grasslands. A large farmhouse sat not too far away from the lone tree. It looked to have become prey to adverse weather for many years with no upkeep to manage its structure. Much of the paint on the outside had been beaten off by weather and hail, and most of the shingles on the roof had been torn off. Vines had begun their trek upwards long ago, and tall, unkempt grass and weeds were wedged in crevices of the planks on the porch. It was in a sad state, but even its destruction added character to the setting. The dreamer closed his eyes as he rested against the smooth bark, the fur over his shoulder tickling his neck as the wind brushed over him.

            It had been quite a few dreams that they had spent together, he and Fenris. Though Solas still walked the castle and conversed with spirits, the constant melancholy of much of the Fade in Redcliffe left the dreamer bereft of the other elf’s company. Spending time together became a regular occurrence, Solas either finding himself being pulled into Fenris’s dreams or seeking them out himself. Much of the time they spent on the beach in Fenris’s memory, walking the shore or exploring the nearby wilderness, though every now and then Fenris would ask for Solas to create a dreamscape for them, to which the mage always obliged. As they explored their surroundings, they typically discussed fairly amiable topics, distancing themselves from the reality that they were trapped in in the waking world. Dreaming became a new kind of reprieve for Solas, not from a foreign world that he despised, but from the creeping angst and depressing situation they were in that was proving slow to rectify. Even if spending time with Fenris was escapism, they both were owed at least that much.

            After a time he heard soft footsteps approach him through the grass at a brisk pace before halting towards his side. A soft displacement resounded as two objects landed on the grass, a rustle of clothing, sloshing of a liquid inside glass.

            “You seem content.”

            Solas smiled and opened his eyes towards the familiar voice. Fenris sat diagonally from him with a brown, square bottle in his lap and a small, old chest to his right. He was clad simply, donning pants and a dark, wide-collared tunic with long sleeves. His hair was pulled into a loose braid that draped over his shoulder.

            “I am here, am I not?” Solas retorted, anchoring himself on the ground so he could shift and sit straighter against the tree.

            Fenris paused for a moment before pulling his face quickly to the chest. He cleared his throat. “I found this in the old house. Do you know how to open it?” He rested his hand on the curved lid, tracing the studded metal with the tips of his fingers.

            “All things that are locked require a key,” the mage responded with a teasing tone. Fenris rolled his eyes and cast him an exasperated look. Solas tried to pull down the corners of his smirk. “It is a dream; the key can be anything.”

            “A dream that _you_ shaped,” Fenris responded, rolling the container back slightly to more closely examine the metal lock. “So you must know where the key is.”

            Solas hummed and glanced back at the house before turning his gaze to Fenris and focusing on him. “Or perhaps there is no key and the chest contains nothing.”

            Turning and holding the man’s gaze, Fenris lifted the chest into the air and shook it, producing a soft rattling sound to indicate that it was, in fact, holding something inside. The elf’s stare was condescending.

            Cocking an eyebrow and willing away his smug air to the best of his ability, the mage rested against the tree once more and closed his eyes. “The key is not an object, but a question.”

            Fenris made a short sound as he put the wooden box down again. Solas heard a twist and pop as the elf uncorked the glass container. After a few short sips, Fenris spoke up. “So this is a game,” he said, a slight amount of irritation in his voice.

            His brow flexed in concern before he answered. “A passing fancy, one you may choose to indulge or ignore.”

            The rustling stopped, the only sound around them the creaking, rotting wood stroked by the wind and the whisper of grass thrumming together, riding the waves of the wind. Fenris was still. A growing sense of disquiet began to settle in Solas’s stomach. Had he said something wrong?

            Just as he turned to look at the warrior, his deep baritone broke the silence. “You wish for me to ask a question, or to ask one yourself?” His tone was resigned, choosing to indulge rather than rebuke.

            In truth, what Solas wanted was an answer, but the best way to acquire those was to ask questions. He was glad Fenris was willing to play along. Resolving to take what curiosity he could get from the man, Solas met Fenris’s enigmatic gaze. “Either one will work, _arani._ ”

            Fenris pursed his lips. “What does that mean?”

            Solas pulled his hands to his lap and knitted his fingers, his palms resting against his torso. “My friend.”

            The warrior hummed, tapping the glass bottle he held beside him in an idle rhythm for a moment. “You said something else, back at Haven. A farewell.”

            “ _Dar’eth shiral?_ ” Solas asked. He was a bit surprised he had remembered. At Fenris’s nod, Solas translated it for him. “I was bidding you a safe journey.”

            The elf looked to think for a moment, pondering something. Solas was intrigued that he would be so interested in the language, given his general demeanor regarding much of anything about the People. It was a nice change of pace.

            “If you and I were meeting for the first time,” Fenris started, gesturing between the two of them, meeting the other man’s eyes again, “how would the exchange go?”

            “That depends,” Solas answered, a small smile gracing his features. “The language of the People changes quite a bit when taking class into account.”

            Fenris’s brow settled over his eyes, shooting Solas a hard look. “Like all languages,” he grumbled. He hoisted the liquor in the air and gestured with it. “Use whatever class you imagine we would be in. I don’t care.”

            Considering Fenris would be very difficult to classify in Arlathan or within the ranks under the various evanuris, Solas dismissed the opportunity to tease Fenris with a joke that only he himself would understand. He decided instead to answer amicably.

            “If you were approaching my home, I would bid you welcome,” he began, untangling his fingers and placing his hand against his breast in a show of civility. “ _An’daran Atish’an_. My home is yours.” He lowered his hand and gestured to Fenris, his palm up. “In response, you may respond, ‘ _Enastesha,’_ expressing that you are blessed to be in my home.”

            The elf nodded but didn’t speak, indicating that he wanted Solas to continue. The newly appointed teacher continued, “I may ask after your countenance, ‘ _Thu ea?’_ So?” Solas stopped again, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

            Realizing he needed a response to continue, Fenris answered. “Well.”

            Nodding, Solas continued, “Then you would answer, ‘ _Ame son, ‘ma serannas_ ,’ ‘I am well, thank you,’ or ‘ _Ame son, i na?’_ to inquire after my health in return.”

            Fenris nodded, consuming some of his mystery liquid. After putting the bottle down he gestured in an arc towards Solas with his other hand. “Go ahead.”

            Solas couldn’t contain his minor surprise. He’d only heard the phrases once. Surely he couldn’t remember them that quickly. He would indulge him, regardless.

            Shifting so that he sat up straight, his back curved easily as he took on the dignified posture of a host. He inclined slightly towards Fenris who also straightened, mirroring him.

            “ _An’daran Atish’an, da’len._ ”

            Fenris frowned when he noticed the addition to the line, but amended his expression into something more neutral to keep up the brief scene.

            “ _Enastesha._ ”

            Solas contained his cringe. His pronunciation wasn’t very good, to put it mildly, and his background in Tevinter was very likely counterproductive to the lilting poeticism that Elvish required. It was nothing he didn’t expect. Regardless, he continued. “ _Thu ea?_ ”

            Fenris inclined his head briefly,“ _Ame son_ ,” he began as he straightened his back to his previous position, “ _i na?_ ”

            The smile crept across Solas’s face, “ _Ame son’ala, ‘ma serannas_.”

            Fenris clicked his tongue against his teeth in a chastising way as his posture relaxed. “You aren’t supposed to add new terminology on the first try.”

            Solas chuckled, shaking his head. “I apologize, you are right. It is rare that I am able to speak my mother tongue with another. You remembered everything well,” he complimented, shifting the topic from himself to his friend. “Well done.”

            A proud smile flickered across Fenris’s face for a brief moment, “Thank you. The pronunciation is…different from what I’m used to. It’s…quite alien in comparison to Tevinter and Qunlat,” he explained, taking another sip.

            The mage blinked, surprised. “You speak the Qunari language?”

            He was shot a doubtful look as the bottle was lowered. “Much of the elven _viddathari_ are former slaves, and particularly, if not exclusively, from Tevinter. Learning Qunlat is fairly easy when many of those around you prepare to convert.”

            Solas had underestimated Fenris. He spoke three languages, possibly fluently, and they were at least tentatively exploring a fourth. He did not like underestimating his friend, but he welcomed these types of pleasant surprises. There could have certainly been places for him in Arlathan…

            A soft click resounded as a part of the lock was loosened on the chest. Fenris knitted his eyebrows and glanced at it, examining the lock to see that it was still intact.

            Solas continued on regardless. “I had heard that understanding the Qunari culture was necessary to correctly navigate their language,” he hedged, vaguely remembering the Iron Bull saying something similar as they were hiking through the Storm Coast when they first hired his mercenary company. He ignored the twinge of negativity at remembering the Inquisitor and pressed on. “Is that correct?”

            Fenris nodded, turning from inspecting the chest back to the other elf. “It is. Qunlat is so heavily based in the Qun that it is impossible to speak it without invoking the belief system in some way.” He absently traced in between the lines on the back of his left hand with his right as he continued, “It made sense that many slaves would find the Qun appealing. It assigned purpose to them, freed them of their enslavement, and firmly gave them a place to belong.”

            The dreamer wrinkled his nose in disgust. “It freed them of Tevinter, certainly, but then enslaved them to a belief system instead. It serves to control their thoughts as well as their actions.”

            Fenris shrugged and nodded. “You’re right. It’s no different from slavery in that way. It only fools those who follow into believing that they are free, at least at first.” He paused and grasped the bottle that leaned against his thigh. “It is the only language I know that has a rule to refer to those outside of a belief system as an object.”

            Solas quirked an eyebrow, and Fenris explained, pulling the bottle up onto his leg and held it there to rest. “The word ‘Qunari’ describes those that follow the Qun, not their race as a whole. People who do not and have never followed the Qun are called _bas_ , or ‘thing.’ ”

            Solas scoffed, unsurprised. “They have plenty of derogatory words for things they don’t like, I would presume. Like mages, and free will.”

            The darker elf chuckled, “Mages are _saarebas_ , a dangerous thing. Since you are not of the Qun as well as a mage, you would be _bas saarebas_.”

            “Poetic,” Solas scoffed, leaning back against the smooth tree trunk again.

            “Accurate,” Fenris added, raising the bottle to his lips.

            Solas prickled, not entirely sure if he should feel insulted or complimented for being described as dangerous. Fenris likely meant no offense, but his dry tone never assisted in keeping his comments politic.

            “You consider me a dangerous thing, then?” he inquired, trying to keep his biting tone from his friend.

            Fenris drew his eyebrows down as he did the same for the liquor bottle. “You are dangerous, somniari. By your nature. It is hardly a matter of debate.”

            Solas’s frown was growing closer to a scowl. He isn’t trying to be antagonistic, Solas. Keep yourself calm. “We are both dangerous creatures, whether born or made,” he said, deciding to end the line of discussion there. No good would come from continuing further.

            Fenris glanced at his hands before looking over the landscape. “I suppose we are.” Then, as if wanting to avoid the subject as well, he shifts the conversation. “The Qunari replace people’s names when they convert, usually to reflect their station. Do Elvhen translate people’s names?” Fenris asked, pulling his line of sight from the rolling hills to Solas’s eyes.

            “Sometimes, though not all names would necessarily translate over. But, yes, it endeavors to,” he answered, relaxing.

            “What would…” Fenris hesitated for a moment, as if unsure that he wanted to continue his question. “What would ‘Fenris’ become?” He cast his eyes away now, going to take a drink.

            “ _Da’fen_ would be the closest literal translation for ‘little wolf.’ Another alternative would be _Da’fenlen_ ,” Solas answered, watching Fenris as he took a larger gulp than he had before. Perhaps he was seeking liquid courage for this line of questioning?

            Licking his lips, Fenris sighed. “My first name was Leto. What…would that become?”

            Solas quirked an eyebrow, unfamiliar with the name. It didn’t seem to fit the elf in front of him, but then again he was used to the other name. “What does it mean?”

            Fenris chuckled, a flat sound. “Forgotten.”

            Solas frowned. What a depressing name to give a child, though his name wasn’t much better in terms of the meaning it places on the barer. After considering for a moment he answered, “It would be something related to _Silaimemlen_ , or _Unsilaimalen_.”

            “What’s the difference?”

            A small smile graced Solas’s face as his brow arched slightly inwards. “The first refers to a person who has been forgotten. The second refers to one who was once forgotten.”

            Fenris blinked and looked at the other elf for a moment before making a noise of recognition and casting his eyes away now, a small amount of color coming to his features. “What does Solas mean?” he asked, not meeting his eyes this time.

            The apostate smiled, “Pride.”

            The warrior scoffed and shook his head, smiling as well. “That fits.”

            Solas chuckled and leaned back against the tree, watching as Fenris turned to look back over the dreamscape again. It surprised him how relaxed the other elf had become in the Fade, especially after he witnessed the tense and fairly unhappy dream that he’d first stumbled into when they were first imprisoned here. Before Redcliffe the two of them had barely spoken aside from the occasional brief conversation during travel and the run-in they had on Fenris’s first night at Haven. He had been tense and solemn, but had shown an awareness of the Fade that Solas admitted drew him in, if only initially for curiosity’s sake. His awareness was mostly due to the lyrium, sure, but behind his stubborn attitude was a willingness to learn. And now they were sitting together on a regular basis enjoying each other’s company. Though he would have much preferred this sort of development take place due to less dismal circumstances, he couldn’t help but admit that it made the entire situation significantly more tolerable.

            The tanned elf had turned now to glance at the second story windows of the house, one broken and boarded up and the other dirty with grime. The apostate noticed the lyrium lines on the back of his neck that branched similarly to the ones on his throat. He’d never noticed them before. Attempting to break the silence, he decided to inquire after his opinion of the dreamscape. “Do you like what you see?”

            Fenris turned from the house to Solas after a moment, his head tilted. He didn’t answer at first until Solas pulled his eyes from his neck and met his gaze. “Perhaps,” he paused, gripping the liquor bottle, taking a breath. His eyes grew sharp before he asked, “Do you?”

            Solas blinked incomprehensibly. Surely he didn’t mean the drea—Then it hit him, and his breath caught in his throat. He was referring to himself. His shoulders went rigid as his heart stopped and his mind stuttered, trying to figure out what would be appropriate to say. Of all the inquiries he anticipated the elf might make during their game, this was _not_ one of them. Was he teasing him because he caught him staring? His tone hadn’t felt chiding. Rather, it had sounded…nervous.

            With his heart finally returning to life and pumping into overdrive, he glanced at Fenris’s mouth before meeting his eyes again, taking a breath as well. “Perhaps,” he answered lamely.

            The elf’s grip on the brown bottle tightened as his eyes bore into Solas’s, a flurry of anxiety rolling in those green depths. The arch of his brow relaxed when he finally looked away from the apostate, towards the bottle in his hand without saying a word.

            The mage released a breath, sagging against the tree, feeling like his diaphragm had just been released from the grip of a vice or cinch. As his hand fluttered from the grass at his side to grip on to the hem of his tunic the sound of the lock sliding loose echoed against the gentle wind along the farmland, throwing a shiver through the tense atmosphere. Fenris breathed in a short, small inhale through his nose as he shifted. A quick flick of the clasp and a slow creak as the lid opened. Fenris chuckled and the apostate turned to the sound of it, feeling drawn to the tremor rather than reacting to it.

            Fenris held the necklace aloft from the opened strong box, the black fossilized bone glinting in the bright sunlight overhead, gently turning with the breeze. A lock of white pulled loose from the braid and tossed in the breeze gently as Fenris brought his other hand up to cradle the pendant, looking over it with bemused charm.

            Solas felt his chest tighten again, but not from anxiety this time. No, this was something far more troubling, something that should not have been possible for him. Something that was occurring far too quickly. It was a pain that was bitter sweet, an emotion he hadn’t felt in what felt like an immeasurable amount of time.

            When had he become so beautiful?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most Elvish is of course from fenxshiral's [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/series/229061). The untranslated parts are:
> 
>  _Da'len_ \- Child or what you may call a student.  
>  _Ame son’ala_ \- I am very well.
> 
>  **Update:** It has recently come to my attention that Leto is Latin for "to kill" or "to slay." In that case, his name would be "Dala" simply, or "Dala'len" for "killer" and "Ghi'myelan" for "hunter." Personally, I prefer the forgotten bit. As depressing as a child named forgotten is, I prefer that irony over the idea of Fenris's mother literally going, "My son, _killer._ "
> 
> And thanks as always to my editor Onyona. :) Comments and critique are appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

            Solas had resolved to be at least somewhat active during his waking hours. While the prisoners were moved to and fro around him, he was never relocated and rarely interacted with outside of basic amenities, which he was particularly grateful for. He took to spending his conscious hours doing basic exercise to keep his body taught and meditations to keep his mind sharp, at least insofar as the bare nourishment that they fed him would allow for. For now, he tried to keep away from the emotions that were bubbling in him that were threatening to steal all of his concentration. He needed to focus. Futile infatuations could be pondered later. The implications of those infatuations on his assumptions of everyone around him could also be dealt with later.

            “How long ‘ave you been down ‘ere?”

            The rough, irritating voice jarred his concentration. Solas opened his eyes from his attempted meditations, slowly turning his cerulean gaze to the prisoner across from him. They looked to be an older man, probably one who lived in the immediate city. He was dressed in cheap, but brightly colored garb, as if he wanted to project an entitlement he clearly did not possess. The grime from his stay in the prisons only enhanced this effect.

            Ignoring him afforded the elf nothing, and he figured that it was a nice break in his routine, if only slight. “A little over a month, I believe, perhaps longer. It can be difficult to keep track of time without windows.” His voice sounded strange in the hollow of his ears, rough from lack of use.

            The man regarded him for a moment, rubbing at his dark unkempt beard before bringing his legs across one another to sit more squarely. He met the elf’s gaze with a quizzical look. “Weeks? I ‘eard that prisoners only stay here for a few days.”

            Solas closed his eyes again, but continued to respond, turning his head back to the forward position he had been facing earlier. “How long have you been here, then?”

            The man didn’t answer at first, either calculating his assumption or pondering something else. “A few days.” His tone was grave.

            Solas opened his eyes again and looked back at the man. He certainly hadn’t been here long, despite the dirty clothes. His form didn’t seem incredibly emaciated. The bags under his brown eyes were deep and dark, and his lips were chapped as he scratched the skin with his nails, absent-mindedly thinking. He was a simple peasant. He would likely be used in a blood ritual since he was of little import in lieu of a potential ransom.

            Then something dawned on him. The man had only been moved to his cell not too long ago, perhaps during the last time he had slept. That meant that he had been kept elsewhere in the castle.

            The elf shifted his seated stance to give the man his full attention. “Where were they keeping you before?”

            The prisoner turned his eyes up and considered the question. “ ’nother prison block, I guess two blocks down from this ‘un.” He gestured towards Solas, indicating towards the left of the entrance.

            Frowning, Solas considered this. It didn’t seem helpful, the prisoner had not been near the chambers, nor had he given him information that was particularly useful. The magebane that they fed him had affected his awareness when he was brought down here, and it rendered his memory of his trek to his current residence useless.

            Not willing to let this opportunity slip, he looked towards the man again. “Is that near the chambers?”

            The man shot him a confused look. “The what?”

            “The…torture chambers.” Solas muttered. In his exploration of the castle, it had not been, but considering the occasional repurposing of estate interiors, he had to be sure.

            The man grimaced and shook his head, flashing yellow teeth. “Uh-uh. No way. We ‘ad to cross this…pit with a grate over it to get ‘ere, bu’ tha’s it.”

            The mage hummed, but the man continued. “Why you wanna know?”

            Solas shrugged, projecting an aloof attitude. “Simply curious.”

            The bearded man kept his gaze steady, unconvinced, before shrugging and turning to lean back against the bars, muttering something under his breath.

            Solas turned to return to his meditations before the man’s voice cut the air again. “You heard anythin’ ‘bout the experiments?”

            He turned to the prisoner once again, his eyes narrowed, both out of annoyance and suspicion. “I have not,” he groused.

            The man was facing away from Solas now, his greasy, wavy graying hair pressed through the iron bars. “I’ve seen… Others ‘ave been gettin’ sick. Them guards ‘ll come ‘n just…make ‘em eat some weird stuff and they’ll…I dunno…look different.”

            Solas pressed his lips together. The Venatori were up to something, but by this man’s very poor description of events, he couldn’t be sure what it was he was referring to. For all he knew, there were other mages and they were being forced to drink magebane.

            “How do they look different?”

            The man shifted but still didn’t turn to look back. “I dunno it’s… I’ve seen people hack up what looks like rocks. They’ll shiver when they sit, like they’re always cold, but they shiver weird. Like there’s a timin’ to it.” He sighed then and shook his head. “ ‘s long as I don’t get sick…”

            Taking this information into consideration, Solas closed his eyes and went back to his meditations. He’d never known anyone to vomit after drinking magebane, so this would have to be something else.

            They were performing experiments on prisoners and using others for blood rituals. It didn’t sound very surprising, though the nature of the experiments was something to be concerned about. Solas had been here this whole time and had simply been held. No interrogation, no torture, no blood ritual, no experiment. Despite all of that, it made him feel uneasy. Perhaps he would be held until the Inquisition lost all power, then they would use him as they saw fit. Of course, they weren’t paying Fenris that sort of respect, despite him being a part of the Inquisition.

            Shaking his head, he willed away the mixture of anger and longing that flared in his chest. No, don’t think about it. This information only increased the necessity to get out, before either he or Fenris became subject to whatever experiment this was.

            “Jus’ be careful if they try an’ feed you that stuff,” the man cautioned as he sighed, his ribs pressing against the bars. “It’s red.”

 ***

           Solas’s search continued to yield few results in the Fade. Fenris only seemed to be humoring him or changing the subject if the topic of escape was ever broached, and he rarely had any input to share. The idea clearly interested him, but he seemed reluctant to entertain it farther than a few thoughtful comments. Considering his warring feelings, Solas had been attempting to focus on getting out for the last few nights. It was as good an excuse as any to ignore what the chest opening meant for him, for Fenris, for Felassan… He shook his head as he stepped through the halls that were growing very familiar, passing by a rage spirit as it seethed in the corner of the hallway.

            The spirits were beginning to regard Solas with familiarity, but still tended to not be very helpful, despite his attempts at persuading them otherwise. They were like the prisoners here, concerned with their own well-being and wrapped up in their own emotional collections and purpose. It was not uncommon for spirits, they all had their distinct personalities and tendencies, but it served to make their impotent conversations no less disheartening.

            He did notice that there were less spirits roaming the area than when he first ventured here. The rage and sorrow spirits were thinning in number, and he knew with a roll of his stomach that it was because they were being turned into demons. The Venatori were binding them to warriors to fight to dominate the southern region. Another thing that he felt powerless to control, made more of a reality as he saw the lessening number as he walked through the castle’s memories.

            As he stood in the cobble stone hallway, shifting and flickering as the memories passed him, ghosts and shapes going through the motions of past lives on an endless loop, he turned his head toward the torture chambers again. He was confident of their relative location now. The biggest issue was finding out which specific cell Fenris was in. He recalled the taste of bile and despair that had threatened to drown him the last time he had unwittingly descended into those depths and involuntarily shuddered. Breathing in a long, slow breath, he outstretched his hand and pushed through the wooden door again, descending the short stairs.

            It was no less potent than it had been before. The agony washed over him and wiggled at his skin, trying to burrow into his being like a parasitic swarm. Sharpening his form and aura, he pushed back at the invading negativity and opened his eyes, getting a good look at the area for the first time. The dark hallways were interrupted by wooden doors with small, barred windows near the tops of them. Sickly green torch light played over the walls at intervals, seeming to flicker and twist with the cries and moans emanating from the cells, the sounds mixing together in a discordance that sent goosebumps over his shoulders and neck.

            Slowly, he began the uneasy process of looking through the cells. He rarely would find only one shape in one cell, intense misery playing out through multiple memories layering on one another, of prisoners being pulled, pressed, and mutilated throughout the centuries all playing at once. Those doing the torture all had different forms, wore different outfits and emblems, but those receiving the treatment were difficult to distinguish beyond race and sex.

            If he looked for Venatori he’d at least be able to find something, he reasoned as he pulled himself sluggishly from the third cell, untangling himself from a myriad of strangled death and a guard breaking down as a prisoner was accidentally killed under the weight of stones. He would not endure the onslaught of other’s misery to come back empty handed. As he turned a corner, he was surprised to see a familiar deep blue flicker standing in front of one of the doors, its forehead leaning against the wood.

            “Sorrow?” he asked, recognizing the feeling emanating from the spirit. Its aura was the same as the one who he had met in the meadow.

            It turned to him slowly, reacting with a faint look of recognition. “Solas. It is good to see you once more.”

            Considering the location, he had hoped that they would meet in a more…pleasant area of the Fade. “I am glad to see you are well, friend.”

            It nodded and turned back to the door. “You have not escaped.” Its tone was not accusatory nor mocking, simply flat and matter-of-fact.

            Clenching his fingers, but forcing himself to relax, the elf answered. “Not yet, no.”

            It hummed and turned to another cell across from the one it had been facing before. It walked up to the door and leaned its forehead against it, its form flickering when it made contact with the shape. “They had so much pain at the end. Sometimes they die quietly, sleeping, bodies too tired to continue as they drift. Most do not.”

            Still determined to get out of this location, Solas peeked into the cell that Sorrow had been at just a moment ago. A woman lay dead on a cot, looking to have died recently. Her stomach was heavy and the guards dressed in sparsely decorated splintmail stood over her, a newly birthed child in the arms of one as it cried, still covered in fluids. They spoke in an old form of the common tongue, deliberating over what to do with the child. One brandished a knife, and Solas decided he didn’t want to stay to witness anything else.

            Pulling himself back to the hall, he turned to see Sorrow still at the other door. “Is this primarily where you dwell, Sorrow?”

            The spirit didn’t reply immediately, but after a moment it admitted, “Yes.” After another moment it continued, “I can mute the pain. Even sadness can seem pleasant in contrast to agony, splitting splints, hollow and heavy with a body’s burden. Even sadness can be pleasant instead of…hope…”

            Its reluctance to the idea of escape made more sense now. Hope only brought pain to those with no chance. Solas, however, was not one without a few tricks he could employ, one of them simply being able to walk the Fade at will. He had a chance, and because he did, so did Fenris.

            “I have a companion in the chambers. Have you seen him, per chance?” he asked. The sooner the heavy, grey of misery pressing on his shoulders could be lifted, the better. The sooner he could take hold of something that would give his plan, his hope of escaping, more tangibility, the better.

            “Who is your companion?” Sorrow asked, turning to him now, interest straightening its form slightly.

            “Fenris. An elf with lyrium branded into his skin. He is being held here in the present.”

            The spirit considered this for a moment, staring through a ruined heralding hanging on the wall as it occasionally clinked against the stone, flagging gently. Solas squared his shoulders, a short breeze rushing through the area as the door he had come in opened, ghosts flowing through the halls.

            Growing impatient, Solas extrapolated when Sorrow didn’t answer. “The lyrium will have a rhythm; you may feel it when you see him.”

            The spirit caught his gaze again, this time with a far more focused line of sight. “He will have two auras? How strange. And he is new here, fresh. His sorrow will be different.”

            “In…a sense, yes,” the mage hedged, not entirely sure that that deduction was necessarily correct, but willing to let the spirit believe it if it meant that it may remember, or even better, that it may help. “You are unlikely to find one such as him in these halls,” he added, irritated as his heart flipped for a brief moment.

            After turning its gaze slowly about the chamber passageways, its blue eyes met Solas’s once more. “I will help,” it answered with a slow nod.

            Relief washed over Solas as he smiled and sagged against a wall. The first good news in weeks, and it was such a small, little thing, an offer of help for a simple task that he had been rejected the entire time he’d been captured. His relief was palpable now that he had finally been granted that mercy. A small smile broke over his face as he nearly laughed in exuberance. “ _Ma serannas, Abelas_ ,” he said with a breathy, light tone. “Please do find me when you have located him.”

            The spirit only nodded before turning and slowly making its way to one of the doors down the hall. Pulling himself up, his heart feeling lighter than it had been in a long time, he forced his way quickly through the rest of the cells while his good mood could still hold a buffer to the oppressive feelings that still pounded against him. Failing at locating a shred of Fenris here, he resolved to find him in his dream. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, searching for his spirit in his dream…

            …but there was nothing there. Confused, the somniari pressed his eyebrows together and waited, reaching out to find even the smallest wisp of his friend. It wasn’t difficult to find him before, it had never really been difficult for him to find anyone in the Fade unless they were actively attempting to avoid him, and they happened to also be Dreamers like himself. Fenris would be unlikely to avoid him at all since he had little beyond frequent lucidity during his time in the Fade. That and he seemed to enjoy their time together... He had yet to wish him out of a dream, and reached out for him on occasion.

            Perhaps the memories of these chambers were making it difficult to find him. Indeed, the misery here was quite suffocating and distracting. Solas removed himself from the area, thrusting his spirit to a new place that was largely empty, save for a partially imagined river that twisted, winding beyond a waterfall near a jagged cliff. Resolving himself to continue, he closed his eyes once more, piercing through the colors and wind of the Fade that surrounded him, like reaching blindly into an area that you couldn’t observe visually, but once you felt what you were looking for, you knew exactly what it was and what to do.

            Still, he came up empty. He flared his nostrils and huffed, opening his eyes to the partial scenery around him, heavy with fog and untapped potential. If Fenris was not here, he was not asleep, and there was little that could be done about it. Trying not to mull over the reasons _why_ his comrade would be awake as well as the anxiety that unfurled in his stomach, he pushed himself back into the castle, to the cells that currently housed the other prisoners as well as himself.

            There was still unhappiness here, settling over his skin like a thin membrane, but it was significantly easier to bear than that in the chambers. As he moved over the wet stone, smooth and damp from the moisture of the ground water that leaked through poor foundation, Solas tried to mull over his plan.

            He had little to go on, but he knew the general direction that he needed to go in in order to get Fenris. He also knew what part of the castle that was, and that there was no easy method of escape from the chambers that did not involve venturing into the main halls. He had yet to see inklings in the Fade of much of the Venatori activity so far, and had no grasp on their guard rotations outside of their shifts inside the cells. The soldiers that had been down in the prisons had so far been very tight-lipped about the activities happening within the castle as well as the cult itself, so he couldn’t glean anything from idle gossip that would be of much use. Hopefully their comfort would supersede their caution over time, though if what the prisoner had told him earlier was true, time was not something that was on their side at the moment. Waiting, however, was mostly all that he could do.

            Feeling restless, he walked through the cells and back up into the main floor, walking to the throne room. Noticing a short hallway that he had not traveled before, he walked past two flickering forms of guards and the door between then and found himself in a courtyard. A large, gated bridge stretched out in front of him, beyond the large grassy area, with multiple doors on either side. The grass was light, shimmering with a yellow-green hue, and he noticed four shapes emerging from a far door nestled in the left corner. Interested, he strolled toward them casually to make out their faces.

            “Be careful, I believe that is a Revenant across the yard.”

            He stopped. That was Leliana’s voice. Looking closer, he recognized her, along with Alistair and the Hero of Ferelden and another member, a mage. They were not dressed in the same way they had been when he saw them in the throne room the first time he entered the Fade here. This was…earlier?

            They slowly moved past him and tucked themselves into the corner by the stairs, Leliana and the mage thrusting their weapons high and attacking the far off group of enemies on the other side of the staircase as Alistair and the Hero rushed towards the front to cut off the coming assault. Watching their clash for a moment, he turned towards the door they had come from. This was a very round-about way for the Hero to come to the castle. Had they not arrived to save the Arl from a deadly sickness? Why would the gates not be lowered to offer them passage? Curious, he moved towards the door to look around.

            Shapes of servants bustled through other shapes of warriors that were fighting, some of the Hero and reanimated corpses, others of soldiers upon other soldiers. The walls and layout were much the same as the rest of the castle, but he had a feeling that he may find something here to help, or at least he had to hope that he would. If the Hero had to come in under a guise of some sort, or had to make their way into the castle without people knowing, perhaps there was something he could use. It may be yet another area that could be rendered inaccessible now, but anything was better than nothing.

            Reasoning that they would need to infiltrate from underground, he took the first staircase down. The smell of animal pens was the first thing he noticed as mabari barks echoed in the distance, vibrating in the Fade as they overlapped one another through the ages. He could hear metal clashing and fire rushing through the air, but saw no fighting as he continued through the halls. The memories were only partially formed, sound but no shapes. They were not strong enough to materialize fully in the Fade. As he pushed his way through the pens, he stepped through a door and saw the shadow of a woman. She looked vaguely familiar as she argued at a guard who was taking the brunt of her fully.

            “No! I must find Teagan and save my son. There is no other way!” she shrilled, thrusting her fists down to her sides, glaring hard at the man.

            The guard stammered, “M-my lady, it is dangerous! The demon—“

            “Wants Teagan. I have no choice,” she finished for him, her shoulders slumping slightly as her angry face belied her exhaustion. “Please watch the doors. I will return with Teagan as soon as I am able.”

            A worried expression crossed the man’s face before he straightened his posture, thrusting his fist over his heart in a salute. “Yes ma’am.”

            With a quick nod, she turned and made her way in the direction that Solas was facing. Teagan had been the name of the Arl overseeing Redcliffe when they arrived, had it not? He vaguely recalled that name when they were making their way through the village to the meeting point. His heart rose higher in his chest as he matched her pace, following the shape of the memory, his sharp eyes trained on the braids bound tightly against the base of her skull.

            They moved through more rooms as they changed into shifting prison cells. Interesting. Perhaps these were cells for prisoners awaiting judgment from the Arl, or they were meant to hold other sorts of criminals. Shaking off his curiosity, Solas pushed through the door ahead of him to follow her.

            The woman snarled at a cell which currently housed nothing, though he suspected it had held someone in her time, and she made her way to the end of the room. Sighing, Solas realized she may have just been checking on the cells before her departure. Just as disappointment began to take him over, she moved to the back of the room and pulled something. A loud _shunk_ came from the wall before her and she pulled back a hidden door. The stone of the wall perfectly hid a small revolving slab. With some effort, she pushed it just enough for herself to fit through. Solas followed after her as she shut it behind her, looking at the mechanism.

            It wasn’t incredibly clear in the Fade, not as clear as it could be, but there was no doubt a stone that could be shifted away to reveal another that flipped out to hold the former in place. As the door shut, he observed, the pulled stone thrust back into place and the other sliding to cover it once again, a wonderful little mechanism.

            He couldn’t help the smile on his face. This looked to be far too permanent a fixture within the wall to merit it being blocked. Teagan was a name he knew from the present. Even if this memory was from years ago, it was still certainly within the Dragon age, and the likelihood of this passageway being made inaccessible was extremely low.

            Changing his shape’s consistency to one that can interact with the memories, he attempted to push the stone out and activate the mechanism to move the door. It took a few tries, but he finally pried it from the wall and pulled the other stone up. The same sound echoed through the memory as the door pushed itself open, the smell of damp wood and straw wafting in from behind it. His grin turning satisfied, he pushed the door to make his way through. A torch flickered on the inside as he grabbed a hold of a bar in the door and pulled it shut, hearing the grinding of the stones as they moved back into place. Wonderful.

            Looking up, he saw the light bounce from a wooden staircase as the woman from before moved up the stairs. Her son… This must have been the wife of the arl that looked over Redcliffe, the one that the Hero saved. So this passageway was likely only used by royalty or members of the arl’s family. Spectacular! That meant that even the Venatori were unlikely to uncover this passageway since they had no connections to the family and no way of knowing of its existence. In time they may find it, but for now, he was quite sure their occupation had not afforded them the idle time to search blindly for hidden stairwells.

            A distant rattling shook through the air of the Fade, growing heavy when it hit his ears, like a wave of sound crashing on to him. Shifting his form, he moved through the door to check the prisons outside. Nothing. A similar sound came again, the sound of metal on stone, more faint this time. He frowned. Was this the waking world?

            Suddenly he was seized up, feeling immense pressure on his shoulders and his arms as he was wrenched from the Fade. Opening his eyes as he tried to thrash, he stared into the faces of a group of Venatori. Two held him down on either side as they clutched his shoulders and wrists, their knees digging painfully under his ribs to keep him to the floor. The third stood over him, holding something in his hand.

            “Keep him still,” he ordered. That wasn’t a Tevinter accent.

            Solas grunted as the knees on his torso bore down into him, grimacing and glaring up at the soldier. He could barely make out a strange ringing sound in his ears.

            “What are you doing?” Solas asked, trying to keep his tone as level as possible.

            He received no verbal answer as the man reached down towards him and covered his mouth with his left hand, his right hand clutching on to something. Solas only narrowed his eyes, doing his best not to look intimidated.

            “Do not struggle,” the man warned, his tone clipped. A helmet covered most of his features, but a dark serious line rested over his eyes, his dark irises glimmering with…something… The faint sound was getting louder. It made Solas’s nerves jitter, made worse by his heart hammering in his chest.

            In two swift motions, the soldier over Solas brought his right hand down, forced his mouth open with his left and pushed what he was holding through Solas’s teeth before forcing his jaw tight. The sound exploded in Solas’s head, the ringing loud and sharp as it echoed in the confines of his skull. He pressed the object to the roof of his mouth with his tongue as the man covered his nose and mouth. The object was hard with multiple flat planes and warm, warmer than it would be from being held in someone’s hand, as if it produced its own heat. The unnerving chords beckoned to him, urging him to obey, to lay, to move. It reminded him of the feeling he got when they closed the key rift in the mountains, before they settled in Haven; the feeling that seemed to permeate the air at the ruins of the Temple. Jagged edges, green fragments in the rifts, snow, red crystal…

_You know what this is, Seeker._

            He stilled as a wave of horror racked his form, a cold chill going from his scalp to his toes.

_It’s red._

            Instinct took him as he flared his magic, attempting to thrust the men away from him so he could spit out the blighted substance. The men stumbled back, loosening their hold on him, allowing him to breath and shift, moving the crystal from the roof of his mouth to his teeth. A cold shimmer erupted over their hands as they recoiled from the sudden freezing burst that came from the elf.

            “Shit!”

            “He still has mana!”

            The man over Solas pushed himself more fully on top of the mage, pushing his hand back to his mouth. Solas grabbed at his wrist to stop him, but the man was stronger than him. He turned his head just as the other man thrust down on his chest. A bright white light washed over the room and the other men braced themselves but still moved to grab at Solas. He felt his mana deplete almost immediately, his connection to the Fade nearly severed as the light broke into him, all but wiping him clean and bare on the inside, taking his reserves with it.

            It was a Templar. The Venatori were recruiting Ferelden Templars.

            Solas made a move to holler but the Templar was far stronger now, blocking his ability to breathe entirely and content to wait him out now as his large hands clasped tightly over his mouth and nose once again. As his shock turned into exhaustion, Solas was barely aware when the shard finally slid from his mouth to his throat.

            Sometime afterwards the three men left, satisfied. Falling in and out of consciousness, barely able to think coherently, Solas turned his head to look to the cell across from his.

            It was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ma serannas, Abelas._ \- Thank you, Sorrow.
> 
> And thanks to my editor as always, who advised that I put more time between Solas and Fenris before this chapter and inadvertently spawned chapter three. :D Comments and critique are appreciated and encouraged.


	5. Chapter 5

            He lay on the stone floor for what felt like days. All of his senses had been dulled, blunted from being smote or the lyrium in his gut, he wasn’t sure which one. Maybe both. His mouth was dry, joints stiff, eyes burning. He could feel his fingers creek when they bent, scratching absently against the floor seemingly of their own accord, the rhythm, the song of the red shard that had been plunged into his gut egging them to dance to its tune. Every now and then his stomach would clench, seize with fire as if his insides were inflamed with an infection that he had no choice but to ride out. Red lyrium wasn’t something he could ride out, though, and he knew that.

            He heard the door open to the block but made no effort to move, nor had he any real desire to do so. The song was gentle in his head, but erratic, and would speed up and grow chaotic when he felt the presence of someone else that was blighted nearby, someone else that had been infected by this substance. Quiet sobs echoed through the cells as a loud clang locked another sacrifice behind bars to await their fate. Solas’s eyes rolled as he squeezed them shut, his guts twisting again with a wet scorching that seared his insides.

            They were feeding this to people to harvest it. He had come to that conclusion. He understood what the red lyrium was, a blight, and they acted in the same way. Just as the Blight had the potential to take over a person’s mind, make them drones to a broodmother who sang to them, so too did the red lyrium. Assuming it didn’t kill a weak host, of course. It was a parasite, a festering thing that enslaved its host as it controlled their thoughts, their actions, their person. He shuddered, a full wracking of his body that simultaneously was instinctive yet took great effort. He clenched his teeth and pulled his fingers to his palms, clenching his fists. They were weak, the nails on his hands barely digging into the soft flesh of his hands. His fingers burned with a pain that he barely registered but could not place.

            With a great, slow inhale through his teeth, the mage attempted to shift himself up. The pressure against his joints sent jolts of warning all the way up his body to his brain, ordering him to stop moving and to lay there. Don’t resist. Let it take you. Don’t disobey. You have no autonomy. Your mind is no longer yours.

            Your plans mean nothing now.

            He gasped as a stab of pain thrust into his churning stomach. It felt as if he was being pierced by a newly smelted blade and his body went limp, his mind receding into his dark unconscious.

            He laid in blackness, a complete and total void of color, light, and the Fade. He felt both weightless and being pulled down by tremendous pressure from the outside, the rhythm pulsing through his nerves urging him to sway and shudder in its wake. A marionette on string. A puppet with no means of its own. A golem that could only be commanded. His eyes flicked under his eyelids, his fingers back to tapping, twitching all on their own. The lyrium’s hold was stronger than he could ever have imagined. The song was deafening, all consuming, and bitter on his tongue.

            He felt his throat open with a vicious flex. The walls of his esophagus strained and flattened themselves against the muscle of his throat. He tried to take a breath but he choked, his body betraying him from being able to breathe, his throat straining to cut off his windpipe as he felt the crushing feeling of choking from nothing. He struggled against the sensation, his body retching as it tried to fight for air against itself, his brain firing into overdrive as the animalistic instincts to clamor and fight filled him. He gagged as he fought to retain control of himself, pushing back the red song that fought for purchase in his head. No, he was not going to be a slave to this. He would fight the lyrium just as he would fight to escape, just as he would fight to correct his mistakes. He would _not_ die lying down!

            A loud, shuddering gasp thrust him back to the cell. As he fought for purchase, his nails scrapped against the stone beneath him, the breathing drumming hard in his ears, heartbeat racing with furious fear and anguish before he realized it was his own breathing that he was hearing. He stilled, a moment of silence passing over him before a jolting gag heaved him forward. He scrambled to his knees and grabbed the waste pail in the corner before his stomach attempted to purge itself, his body shuddering against the bodily heaves that only resulted in more nausea with no relief.

            He groaned when it finally subsided, pushing the pail away as he sagged on his knees, doubling over as he rested his forehead against the stone beneath him. His throat still felt open and uncomfortable, but he was sure he would not vomit, he would simply have to wait it out. At least he could breathe again. Another shudder vibrating down his spine, he pushed himself from the floor with his hands, splaying his fingers against the stone. He stopped when he looked at them, his nails lined with dark blood and chipped to the quick, raw with a pulsing ache that he now could identify. Even his fingertips were scraped and raw. The elf turned his head to where he had been lying, spying bloody scratches on the ground, his nails filed down from the incessant rhythm he had endured for an immeasurable amount of time.

            Spying a new container near the front of his cell, he shuffled over to it to peer inside, somewhat afraid at what he might find. It was liquid and, after taking a quick sniff and taste, found with relief that it was relatively fresh water. He drank with gusto, pausing once to bite back a gag as he drank a bit too quickly for his largely empty stomach. When was the last time he’d eaten? The hunger was sudden when he noticed it, but it seized him when he finally acknowledged it. How long had he been on that floor?

            The creak of the wooden door signaled the guard rotation. Solas grabbed the container of water and pulled himself away from the bars, unwilling to give up the little water that they tended to give him. A faint ringing slid through his ears and he sensed it before he understood it, flattening himself against the left wall of his cell.

            A familiar form stood beyond his prison bars, looking pointedly into the cell before their eyes rested on him. It was the templar that forced the crystal on him. Solas could feel it now, the lyrium. They had also taken it, but why? Why would they want this madness? Was it somehow more potent than regular lyrium? The Venatori sought power above else, after all. It would only make sense that they would take such drastic measures to secure it.

            “I see you’re finally back,” he said, his deep voice muffled by the thick metal helmet. A quiet shade of red glimmered in the back of his eyes. “I wonder how your mind is?”

            Solas made no attempt to hide his negative attitude. His patience had yet to return to him, as well as his good sense to play the meek knife-ear card. “Better than you expect, I would imagine.”

            The templar tilted his head. “You speak in full sentences, and still have a bit of a fight in you. I’d say you are doing quite well. Indeed, better than most.”

            The elf growled and fixed the man with a hard glare. “You intend to harvest lyrium from me?”

            The man stilled, visibly shocked now. “How would—?” He cut himself off and shook his head, “No, never mind. You were with the Inquisition, so you should know what that is. Regardless, I didn’t anticipate you having any mana restores at all; you surprised me.”

            Solas wrinkled his nose, the reaction that had endeared him to Fenris echoing dimly in his head. He hated it coming from this man.

            His gut stilled cold. Fenris. When was the last time he’d been in the Fade?

            “How long have I been out?” Solas asked, his voice as commanding as it could sound in his state.

            The soldier cocked his head again. “How long?” He laughed, slapping the metal against his abdomen. “You don’t even know what day it is. Why would you care?”

            The elf pulled his glare away from the man and fixed his gaze on the floor, on the bloody scratch marks he’d left behind. It would take some time to grind his nails down, though he couldn’t really determine the pace or ferocity with which his body had been behaving with the red lyrium’s song. It was hard to tell much of anything when his mind was completely in its thrall.

            Seeming to take pity on him, the templar decided to answer him. “Four days, give or take. Speaking of which…” He motioned out of Solas’s vision and another guard walked up holding fruit and bread. He stooped down and lifted the slender rectangular gate at the bottom of the cell and slid the container through.

            Solas physically kept himself in one spot, his eyes fixated on the food. Nearly four days without sustenance; it was a miracle he could do anything, let alone that he was still alive at all.

            A tense few moments passed when it became apparent that Solas was waiting for the guards to leave. The templar shook his head and chuckled. “Still holding on to what dignity you have. Madness.” Gesturing to the guard to follow, he then turned on his heel and headed for the exit.

            When the door clicked, the mage all but leapt on to the fruit and grains like a predator pouncing on its prey. It was gone in a matter of minutes as Solas rocked on to his heels, sighing in frustration as the food settled. Red lyrium. Of all the things that he may have anticipated happening to him, being poisoned like this was not one of them. It was a death sentence, there was nothing that could be done about it now but do his best to not exacerbate the growth. There was potential for slowing it down elsewhere, but inside these walls…

            Another sigh escaped his lips as he fell back on his haunches, scooting back towards the wall to drink more water. Even the idea of fighting to get out was exhausting now, despite him doing what amounted to sleeping for days. Though, if he was being honest, fretful semi-consciousness made for a poor excuse for sleep. He did not feel rested at all. It was similar to how he felt when he tried to sleep while under the influence of magebane, but only just comparable. Magebane, after all, yielded no song that attempted to lull its possessor into a slave-state.

            Desiring nothing more than to see Fenris again, despite how awkward the encounter may be, Solas leaned against the wall, resting his hands in his lap rather than on the floor until he fell asleep.

            Staying in the Fade proved difficult at first. Where manifesting himself in the dreaming plane had never been something that he needed to consciously _do_ , the song of the lyrium seemed to be pulling at his concentration. He knew lyrium assisted those in Thedas in regards to accessing the Fade, but perhaps it proved to be a hindrance for someone who was native to it? No, it was likely just this form of lyrium that was proving to be a struggle, and likely only because he couldn’t get the damned ringing from his head.

            As he flickered in the Fade like a distracted spirit, he narrowed his eyes to get a grip on his surroundings. Door, heralding, heralding, suit of armor…ah. He was in the hallway that led to the bedrooms on another floor. He turned and looked in the relative direction of the chambers and frowned. Just the thought of going there drained him of energy. No, he didn’t want to focus on that. He didn’t want to work on the escape plan right now. He just wanted to see him.

            He closed his eyes and felt for him again, almost immediately getting a sense of him. Good, they were asleep at the same time. It hadn’t really occurred to him that there was a possibility of their sleep schedules not coinciding. Even a small thing as that could have kept them separate for, what, the entire time they’d been here?

            Catching his direction, as a wolf is drawn to a scent, Solas turned his head towards Fenris’s direction and willed himself to him. Flying quickly through the Fade, he felt himself stop in a dark, damp place. He opened his eyes and took in what amounted to dark, empty space. Even though there were no walls around him, the air here was thick and heavy, and it burdened him with the feeling of being trapped and claustrophobic. He heard panting and strangled noises and turned around.

            There were dark hooded figures standing in a mass circle. The garb was clearly Tevinter, and they all had streaming red glowing from their forms, filtering through and around their cloaks, the waves both coming from them and settling around them. Their hoods were pointed and heavy, and shrouded their faces in complete blackness, if they even had faces. There was a dip in the middle of the crowd where there were no hoods, and that was where the sounds were coming from as well as a faint, flickering light. Whispers began to filter out from the group, settling over Solas’s ears with a slimy, oppressive feeling.

            _This is all you’re worth._

_You can never escape what you are._

_No one will help you. You can’t even help yourself._

_You truly believe anyone cares about you?_

            _Being loved by you is worthless._

            A low grumble erupted from the crowd before it broke into a soft, wet sob. Anger surged through Solas as he stalked towards the group. He had no strength to currently kill Venatori in the waking world, but he would be damned if he sat back and let Fenris torture himself.

            “Enough!” he exclaimed, thrust his arm in a wide arch. The shades turned to him and began dispersing in waves, their robes being hit by the dreamer’s will as if standing in a hurricane before their forms bled into nothingness.

            As the crowd shrank, he saw Fenris in the center. He was chained to the floor wearing nothing but black pants ripped off at the knee, his hair loose and tangled along his bare shoulders and back. The intricate lyrium on his skin glowed with a ferocity Solas had only seen when he had faced down Alexius, but this was different. Then they glowed of his accord, his will. Now, they glowed because of them and their hunger for mana. The various shades all had hands on him, pressed against his skin to pull on the lyrium within him, sliding from his body as they disappeared like snakes darting to the unseen shadows.

            One shade remained that Solas did not catch in the wave, the figure too strong in Fenris’s mind to leave as easily as the others. His hood was pulled back and he had a closely shaved haircut with a massively receding hairline and a bulbous nose. The Venatori mage frowned as Fenris turned his head from the ground to meet his eyes.

            “You dare to look upon me, slave?!” he sputtered, raising his hand as if to strike the elf.

            Solas jerked but stopped himself as Fenris straightened his back, not flinching from the coming blow. He moved his legs as if to step up and the mage faltered, looking shocked and somewhat scared.

            “You wish to incur my wrath, _rattus_? Have you learned nothing from us? From Danarius? How pitiful of a pet you must have been,” he spat, trying desperately to sound authoritative.

            In one swift motion, Fenris flexed his arm and jerked his wrist towards him to break the chain binding his right hand before he thrust it forward into the abdomen of the remaining mage. The Tevinter shuddered and heaved a gurgling cough before dissipating into the air like the rest, leaving Fenris’s fist clenched in the air where he had been. Muttering something under his breath, the elf sagged back onto the floor and turned to his remaining wrist, toying with the iron still locking him to the floor.

            Solas carefully walked around Fenris as he felt a swelling sense of pride for his friend. Even as he endured what they put him through in the chambers he still hadn’t lost his sense of self. He hadn’t given up hope, either.

            He stooped down a few feet from Fenris to lean on his knees and called out to his friend.

            “Fenris?”

            The warrior flinched and looked up at Solas, eyes wide with alarm. After a moment of searching his face he visibly relaxed before turning his eyes back down. Gripping his left hand into a fist, he pulled at the remaining chain on the floor to no avail.

            “May I help?” Solas pressed but otherwise made no motion to approach. He had dealt with many people who had escaped slavery before. He had learned how to address them so that he didn’t seem threatening, and he would treat Fenris with no less respect than he had any of the others. He had resolved to do so the moment he first saw him on the Storm Coast.

            “Please,” Fenris answered, sliding his fingers over the shackle to get a sense of where the seam was. It shivered and disappeared under his touch and, when Fenris tested to make sure he was not still tethered by something unseen, he sighed and allowed himself to fully relax.

“Thank—,” he started but stopped himself, looking to be trying to recall something. He looked up and met Solas’s eyes, his face sincere. “ ‘ _Ma serannas._ ”

            It took everything Solas had to keep himself from launching on the man then. He had to keep himself in order. He couldn’t help the wolfish grin that spread across his face, however, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his chest swelled with delight.

            “ _‘Ma neral_ ,” he responded, a little breathless.

            Fenris smiled back before rocking away from the elf and pulling his feet out from behind him to stand. Solas stood and offered a hand to him. He realized with a start that he had never actually touched him before and, as Fenris looked to his outstretched hand, he felt uneasy. No. This was the wrong thing to do, he decided. This man was constantly having his personal space invaded by others, by mages, and he was being thoughtless by offering this, even if for help.

            He gripped his hand into a fist and faltered just as the other elf made a move to reach for it. Fenris met his eyes with a small curl in his brow. Solas flushed, feeling foolish.

            “I… It was thoughtless, I should not have—,”

            “Somniari,” Fenris started, an odd mixture of touched and irritated crossing his face as well as his tone. He extended his hand then, palm up. “Please.”

            With a relieved sigh and a smile, Solas clasped the outstretched hand of his companion and pulled him up. He was warm, his palm rough with callouses built up from handling the weapons he used. Just under his thumb he could feel the two brands that traveled up the back of the elf’s hand to his fingers. He shifted it away from them as Fenris settled to his feet. It was a relief to touch him, and even this small contact was enough to send a small flutter of a current through Solas. He admitted that he _wanted_ to touch him, and not for anything close to the reason the other mages did. Even so, it frightened him a little.

            Fenris looked at their hands for a moment and Solas, realizing he was still touching him, made a move to let go, but Fenris held fast, a strange look crossing his face. He loosened his grip before sliding his palm down to the mage’s forearm and taking hold of him again. Confused and a little startled, the mage wasn’t sure how to respond, feeling the brands on the underside of Fenris’s arm as they glided under his fingertips.

            “It doesn’t hurt,” Fenris said after a moment, fixing his concentration where Solas’s palm was against his arm. Solas tensed his fingers and took a breath when Fenris smiled again, his eyes amused and curious. “I wonder why that is.”

            The dreamer let out his breath with an airy, nervous chuckle. “If I told you it was because of me, would you believe it?” It wasn’t. He was never in any danger of hurting from touch in the Fade unless he expected to be hurt, and Solas would never hurt him willingly. It comforted Solas to know that his friend trusted him that much.

            Fenris huffed good-naturedly, fixing the dreamer with an amused look. “Perhaps.”

            As they both let go of one another, the warrior cast his eyes down and his expression shifted from mild amusement to concern. He grabbed Solas’s hand again and stared hard at it. Solas followed his line of sight and noticed the blood and wounds on the tips of his fingers. _Fenedhis_. He promptly jerked his hand away. He hadn’t been mindful of how he looked when he entered the Fade. He had forgotten to mask any injuries he had on his form.

            “What is that?” Fenris demanded, pointing to Solas’s hand as the mage curled his digits into his palm to hide the injuries. “What happened? Does that have to do with why you haven’t been here?”

            It would have been stupid to assume that Fenris hadn’t noticed his absence, but a part of the dreamer had been holding on to that hope. He would not lie to him, and he couldn’t now. With a sigh, he straightened his back and looked at Fenris.

            “Yes, it does,” Solas admitted, before shaking his head and waving his hand dismissively. Fenris’s eyes zeroed in on his fingers, which were now clean and free of injury, before he shot Solas a withering look. The mage faltered and sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I do not wish to burden you, _lethallin_.”

            Shaking his head, Fenris turned to glance around them and absently rubbed his arm, crossing his arms over himself. “It is a worse burden to remain ignorant.” He looked at Solas again, his eyes guarded. “A change of venue first?”

            Obliging as he always did, the dreamer closed his eyes and willed away the uncomfortable atmosphere and looked at the bare Fade around them for a moment. It would be easier to draw on their surroundings than it would be to create something new with his limited mana pool as well as the red lyrium, which had been remaining quiet for a time. They were surrounded by shallow, uneven pools of water and what seemed like candles of various sizes and shapes along with broken pillars. Pulling on that imagery, he fashioned a grand room with high ceilings littered with holes and decay. Rain had pooled on the mussed white and blue tiling on the floor and damaged much of the interior furnishings. The paintings along the walls in particular had been ruined beyond repair, just the slightest hint of color and shape that once resided inside each frame only barely visible. At first glance the room looked impressive, but there were very few detailed colors, the paintings being drenched as well as the dual chromatic and simple design of the room, while big, left much to be desired.

            Solas turned and walked to two wooden chairs that had mostly been left untouched by the weather as they sat under a balcony that jutted from the second story walkway. He gestured to a small table as he walked by it, a set of clothes appearing there for Fenris. The lighter elf approached the chair and stood with his back to the warrior as he heard clothes begin to rustle and move, giving him privacy until he heard bare feet padding across the wet tile and turned, sitting.

            “This isn’t as clear as your other dreams,” Fenris pointed out, approaching and sitting in the other chair beside him. Solas looked across the dreamscape with a frown as Fenris pressed, “What’s going on?”

            Solas took a breath. Be direct, but ease him in first. “The Venatori, as seems to be their nature, have begun using prisoners for various experiments.”

            The chair creaked fiercely as Fenris pushed himself off of it. Solas’s head snapped to his friend who was facing away from him, his muscular shoulders squared and angry under the white high-collared tunic. “ _Venhedis!_ ” the warrior hissed, flexing his fingers before balling them into fists, wanting to vent his anger but not knowing how.

            “ _Ir abelas_ ,” Solas answered before quickly following up with, “I’m sorry.”

            “ _They_ will be the ones who are sorry!” Fenris exclaimed, gesturing harshly. “It’s red lyrium, isn’t it?” he asked, turning his piercing gaze to his friend.

            Solas gripped the thin armrests of his chair, squaring his jaw. “Yes.”

            Fenris turned and let out a muted roar behind clenched teeth, thrusting his arms in frustration. He began pacing, running a hand through his hair as he rambled. “They spoke of leaving you _alone_. They _said_ that we were to hold us for the Inquisition as bait. Why would they do this? Why _you_? They can’t risk me but _why you_?”

            Solas stood now, compelled by the countenance of the other and reached out to stop him, clasping him gently on the shoulder. Fenris stilled but continued to seethe.

            “What is done is done,” Solas attempted, dread hardening in the pit of his stomach even as he said it with an even tone, “There is nothing that we can do now.”

            Fenris twisted out of his hold and spun around, his brands flashing momentarily. “You accept your fate so easily now, mage?” he spat. He shrugged his arms away from himself, “Shall we also acquiesce to our imprisonment?”

            Solas drew his hand back and scowled, his upper lip curling. “I simply will not waste energy and worry on something that is irreversible. My being poisoned is one of them. Our imprisonment is not.”

            The elf’s frown stayed. As he moved his arms back to his sides, some hair had fallen loose from where he had rutted his fingers earlier. Irritated, he combed his fingers through his hair again and closed his eyes, exhaling loudly through flared nostrils. Even angry he was beautiful, and Solas was appalled that it had even momentarily distracted him during such a heated moment.

            Fenris opened his green eyes again. They were still angry, but he was visibly attempting to calm himself down as his body grew less rigid. “They are counting on the lyrium to drive you insane. It will give you power that they covet. They are playing a dangerous gamble on hoping the song takes you,” he said.

            Solas narrowed his eyes, “And how do you know this?”

            “Because I know how magisters think,” Fenris responded, thrusting his pointer finger in the air before dipping it in a low arc, stabbing towards the ground. “They want to see what it does to you and they want to see how they can benefit from it. I know that they would only bestow something powerful on a person they believe they can control.” He brought his hand up to gesture towards himself before waving it shortly towards the mage. “You apparently gave them the idea that they can control you.”

            Solas couldn’t help but laugh at the sentiment, a short burst of mockery. “They are fools, but you make an excellent point. The red lyrium…it is dangerous, but perhaps if I’m caref—.”

            “No!” Fenris interrupted, cutting the air between them in a downward slash of his right hand. His voice shook a little as he continued. “You _know_ this is dangerous. If you draw on it, it will only kill you faster.” The elf paused to take a breath, closing his eyes as he did as if to steady himself. Drawing himself to a straighter posture, he asked, “Are you so eager to see your own death?”

            Sighing through his nose, Solas looked at his friend for another moment before casting his eyes away. “No, but it is a potential advantage that I will not ignore in a time of crisis.” Even as he said it he could hear it pulling at the back of his mind as if summoned by being discussed. The shadows of the dream wavered for a moment before becoming clear again. He wasn’t sure how much time he had left in the dream.

            Fenris glanced around the room, noticing the shift before looking back at the bald elf. As he turned to approach the chairs again, he gestured towards Solas’s hands at his sides. “Don’t waste your energy.”

            Heaving a short breath, Solas dropped the illusion masking his injuries from his body and followed Fenris. The elf’s hair was still a mess even after carding through it with his fingers. He suppressed an itch to touch it. Instead, he held out his hand and created a bristled brush with a dark wooden handle and intricate branches engraved in it. He called to his friend as he moved to sit and held out the brush. The elf looked at it for a moment.

            “Are you trying to tell me something?” he asked, his question dry, though his expression a bit soft.

            Solas crooked an eyebrow, “I assumed…well, it seemed to relax you on the Storm Coast.”

            Fenris looked from his face to the brush again, drawing his lips close together as if he were debating saying something else. Before the mage could inquire after his line of thought, the warrior took the brush from his hand and looked forward, pulling his hair over his shoulder. Solas turned and sat in his chair again as Fenris partook in a routine he had likely not been engaged in for months. He seemed to be relaxing, even if it was only a temporary state.

            It was foolish, but despite it being information he needed to know, Solas felt a smidgen of guilt for having to impose it onto Fenris. Then again, hadn’t the warrior chastised him for something similar when they talked for the first time out on the beach dreamscape?

            “They should die for what they’ve done to you,” Fenris muttered, pulling the bristles through a thick lock of hair. Solas looked at him but the elf didn’t turn to meet his gaze, his brow pulled low over his down-turned eyes.

            His fingers twitched in his lap and he smiled to himself, pulling his eyes away to look over the ruined architecture. “For what they’re doing to you, they will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The imagery in Fenris's dream was partially inspired by this great piece of fanart [here](http://thelyonface.tumblr.com/post/137575103033/sassanids-anasthaeziiya-what-do-you-have). The description that I reblogged with it also helped, but the image is really what stuck with me.
> 
> As always, a thanks to my editor Onyona. Comments and critiques and stuff are all appreciated. :)


	6. Chapter 6

            It was nearly a week before Solas could return to the Fade for longer than an hour at a time, and even longer before he gained the concentration to create anything within it that could last in an interactable form. Although the pain in his gut and itchy shaking through his limbs were beginning to subside, or at the very least become tolerable, he couldn’t feel any difference in the strength of the lyrium’s hold on him. It was becoming akin to background noise for him if only through sheer perseverance and familiarity alone, not that either of those things were making the infection much easier to endure. The physical pain came and went, and he noticed that it got worse if he used mana to attempt to counteract the pain, significantly worse, like it was rebelling against being silenced.

            For the brief moments he saw Fenris while he was distracted by the lyrium, he had warned him about not being able to visit his dreams for a time. There was no telling how long it may take him to get control of himself to the point that he could freely visit the Fade as he once did. The elf had understood, though there was a clear storm of emotions behind his eyes when he had.

            During his fully conscious hours, the hedge mage noticed that the prisoners were being kept for even shorter periods of time than before, some staying barely hours before being removed again. None of them had been infected like he had, and he wondered how large and robust this army was now that they had sacrificed so many people. Perhaps his sense of time was skewed and nothing had really changed, just the brief periods of lyrium mania that he endured could be making his ability to understand the passage of time warped and in truth it hadn’t been that long. Then again, this sort of thing happened to prisoners who stayed without sunlight for long periods, didn’t it? He certainly didn’t feel like he was going insane, but for all intents and purposes, the lyrium was doing that for him, or at least expediting the process. The notion was highly discomforting.

            “D’you think preparations at Adament are close to being finished? I’m sick of hauling these Ferelden’s around.”

            A muted guard’s voice fluttered in from the wooden door that led to the hallway outside. Solas was leaning against the wall closer to the outside. Blinking and realizing that this was his first potential opportunity to eavesdrop, he leaned his head against the cold stone and turned it slightly to get a better listen, pushing back the voices in his head as hard as he could.

            “We should have enough bound by the time they’ve deposed the Empress. Just relax, and don’t let Alexius hear you complain. You’ll be next on the chopping block.”

            The first guard sighed as they continued their conversation and walked down the hallway, their voices echoing too much to get a clear sense of the rest of their discussion.

            Solas rolled his head back and closed his eyes. “Bound” had to be referring to binding demons, as he feared previously. That is what the prisoners were for, and why the number of spirits in the Fade had been decreasing for some time. The Empress though…?

            Furrowing his eyebrows, he groaned as Felassan flashed in his mind. Orlais. They were going to try and murder the Empress of Orlais and…what? Storm the country with demons? They must be using the Ferelden’s here to help amass that army…somewhere, probably closer to Orlais. Or they were using them to amass a secondary army here?

            He shook his head. What was the point of dwelling on it? He couldn’t do anything about it. He had hope still that the Inquisition could stop them, but he didn’t necessarily _believe_ it. With the Inquisitor gone, the Anchor gone, there was little to be done to correct the rifts without having access to his orb.

            Frustrated, Solas leaned forward and ran his fingers over his head, his hair beginning to come back, but slowly. Very slowly. He could feel the healing scabs glide roughly over his scalp, the feeling softened somewhat by the short follicles. He remembered when managing and styling it took long periods, and how he had taken a source of identity in whatever style he had chosen for the next length of time before changing it into something new, something changing within him that would drive him to change his appearance to reflect it. Such a long time ago, a much younger, naïve elf…

            A fool. His nostalgic look morphed to a frown and he dropped his hand to the cold stone beneath him, pressing his sore fingertips into his palm. He wasn’t healing fast enough. Perhaps the red lyrium was damaging that aspect of his body too? No, that didn’t make sense. It was the malnutrition. He glanced to the empty spot where the dirty dishes normally sat. They had started pulling back his meals again. Strangely, his physical hunger hadn’t gotten worse, and his fatigue had more to do with the poison likely rushing through his system than any lack of real food. One more detail he didn’t want to mull over.

            Shaking his head, his thoughts feeling erratic with the boredom and dread settling over him, he decided to attempt basic physical exercise, both for its original purpose, but also to tire him out. His light, rhythmic breaths mixed in with the standard discordant melancholy of the block that he had now become very familiar with. Despair, hopelessness, and defeat swam in a sea of noise around him constantly. The only pockets of silence existed when the prisoners had all been tired out by their misery and slept. Well, it used to be silent. His poisoning had largely taken care of that notion as well. He wondered momentarily if he would ever really know true silence again. Even in the Fade it was still present, but he was gaining a better control over separating himself there, the red lyrium present in his physical body more so than in his mind.

            After successfully working himself to near exhaustion and lying out on the bedroll, Solas pushed himself to the Fade. Before being imprisoned here he couldn’t recall anytime he had to actually _force_ himself into the Fade, or have to concentrate on just making himself appear here in a bodily form. He wasn’t sure he liked any new development that he had had to endure or confront since waking up here. Green eyes shifted through his thoughts for a moment and he shook his head, taking a breath as he pulled himself together, his feet resting on the cool flagstones of the castle floor. His feelings for Fenris aside, the fact that the emotions were developing in the first place was an unpleasant turn that he would rather…

            Heaving a sigh, not having the guts to finish his thought, he paced through the hallway towards its intersection with another. Turning to check to see which of the many hallways he currently occupied, a flicker of blue caught his attention as he looked towards his right. A shift in the Fade and a familiar set of azure eyes peered at him from the long hallway.

            He smiled pleasantly, pushing the confusing mixture of emotions back for now. He pressed his hand to his chest and inclined his head towards the spirit. “Sorrow, it is good to see you again, my friend.”

            The spirit nodded, eyes drooping in the corners, but holding an expectant look to them all the same. “Solas, I have found your friend.”

            A short breath escaped him and he grinned genuinely now, the elf not sure he could have wanted to hear much else at this moment. His hand flattened against his chest as he straightened his back, “That is wonderful news!” He dropped his hands and gestured enthusiastically towards the helpful entity. “Please, would you take me to him?”

            The spirit obliged with a short nod and reached out to take Solas’s sleeve. The castle shifted around them, colors and forms whizzing past them in a flurry, though the smell of stone and people stayed relatively the same. They settled down in a short hallway in the chambers, in front of a set of three doors before the hall converged with two separate rows on either side.

            Furrowing his eyebrows as he considered, Solas tried to pinpoint where in the chambers they were precisely, particularly in regards to an exit. He held up the hand Sorrow currently wasn’t grasping as he eyed the nearest intersection. “Give me a moment.”

            Once his sleeve was released, he stepped briskly and glanced down the nearest hall, spotting a downward staircase on his right some ways down. Okay, he had some bearing on where they were. Turning back, he saw Sorrow leaning its forehead against the door they had appeared in front of and he walked back towards it.

            “You were right, he is different,” the spirit spoke, unprompted. “His sorrow is not new, regret, bitter, suffocating, violating. It is vast, spread over his memories. Sometimes overwhelming, other times…” it paused, its mouth set in a neutral line as it considered how best to phrase it, “tolerable.”

            Solas winced and closed his eyes a moment, not wanting to dwell on what had happened and continued to happen to his…friend. Steeling himself, he set his jaw and pressed through the door in front of them. He trusted Sorrow, but wanted to see for himself that Fenris was in this cell. After all, the spirit had only so much to go on and could have made a mistake, potentially. It was unlikely, but possible.

            The cell was decorated with intricate glyphs and sigils on all walls in various colors and penmanship. They were clean and free of tarnish, and the cell was fairly clean, though that was likely so the magic wouldn’t be hindered by clutter and debris. Near the center of the room were two pairs of chains, one hanging from the ceiling and another attached to a stone platform that was set into the floor. A few red lyrium crystals had dug through the stones on the ceiling and he narrowed his eyes, wondering why there was lyrium physically in the building itself. Perhaps it was starting to grow as it did at the Temple of Sacred Ashes from the abundance of it.

            A shudder in the corner of his eye drew his gaze, turning towards a dark corner of the room. The illumination here was quite low, much of the lighting coming from the flecks of red in the ceiling. Squaring his shoulders and back, the mage held his breath as he flicked his wrist, creating a small orb of light in his hand to better illuminate the memory, approaching the corner with caution.

            The ivory tangles stood out first, then the dull brands second. Fenris was curled in a ball in the corner of the room on a worn blanket, his back facing towards the door. He was wearing only his dark leggings, torn at various places, and he had bruises over his torso and arms of various sizes. They were small and short, about the length of fingers. There were no lesions or abrasions as far as he could tell, but that didn’t really make Solas feel any better. As Fenris breathed slowly, the mage found that resisting his urge to interact with the memory was much more difficult than he had anticipated. Comforting the shape would only serve to comfort his own countenance.

            The sound of the wooden door opening and Fenris jerking up told Solas that he needed to retreat. Witnessing anymore would not help him. He turned and moved passed a group of Venatori as they entered, noting the one with the broken, round nose that Fenris had killed in a dream previously before extracting himself from the memory.

            Releasing the breath he had been holding, he turned to Sorrow who was still leaning against the wooden panel.

            “Thank you, Sorrow. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your help,” Solas said, forcing a small smile that he didn’t feel in that moment. He was thankful, but the weight of seeing Fenris like that had affected him more than he expected it would.

            The blue flicker turned after a moment, its mouth still neutral. After a beat, it replied, “You are welcome, Solas.” It paused again. “Your pain is vast, but stretched over time, not in concentration. It is worse now, but also better.”

            The elf straightened his posture. “You are correct, in some way, yes.”

            As the spirit moved towards another door, it struck him that it was borderline miraculous that Sorrow hadn’t been pulled by the Venatori by now. Perhaps it spending so much time in the torture chambers and not in the prisons or elsewhere was what had largely kept it intact.

            “ _Abelas_ , I must warn you,” he spoke up, moving towards the entity.

            It stopped and turned towards him, expectant.

            “Your fellows are being contorted by the Venatori, ripped from the Fade against their will,” he explained, his tone even. “I fear that if you remain here much longer that you may be turned, twisted as well. I do not wish such a fate on you.”

            Its eyes remained neutral, but it seemed to be pondering this, its mouth working as it thought. “I should…leave?”

            Solas nodded, “Yes. Escape.”

            Its visage shook for a moment as it turned away. Solas frowned. Perhaps that was not the correct word to use.

            “Will you escape now?” it asked instead, turning back towards him.

            “I will endeavor to, yes. Now that you have been so kind as to help me locate my friend, I can move through with my plans,” he answered truthfully, the anticipation of finally being free spurring his heart rate forward.

            “He believes in you,” Sorrow said, tilting its head to the side, the deep blue of its form shifting. “He believes you will help him. I see why.”

            The elf’s heart sputtered and he broke eye contact, flattered and a bit embarrassed. “I…see. Thank you,” he answered, trying to will away the color rising to his cheeks. He was both pleased at Fenris trusting him, but knew that it was something that the elf should definitely not feel. He was not one to be trusted, not beyond the immediate situation.

            The spirit nodded, “And thank you for…” it trailed off, searching for the phrase again, “caring.”

            Solas nodded, “You’re welcome.”

            And with that, the spirit turned back to the door it had been heading towards and leaned against it, effectively ending their conversation.

            Taking the opportunity, Solas paced the chamber halls for a brief time, attempting to get some grasp of the guard schedule within, but finding little luck. Their intervals were overlapping, and it was difficult to distinguish individuals when they were dressed nearly identically. There seemed to be about a fifteen minute gap in some instances, and larger ones in others. Putting the smallest amount of time in the back of his mind for later, he took the route that would lead to his cells the quickest and safest, descending the stairs and hitting a hard right down the next hallway, stopping at the door that his block sat behind. Taking note of the time it took him to get there, he rounded back and retraced his steps, this time going passed Fenris’s cell to map out their escape route to the secret entrance, keeping in mind the guard postings he saw on the way. He felt the familiar tug towards a dream in the Fade, but ignored it to finish planning the route.

            After determining their best course and plotting it out in his mind, he smiled to himself, satisfied. Real progress, finally. It was only a matter of time now. Once the visits to his holding lessened a little more, he could make a break for it. Perhaps there would even be a dip in patrols when they made their move on Orlais. He didn’t like using the coup as an opportunity, but he could not be choosy when it came to their freedom, and his eventual plans.

            Following the pull now, he was surprised when he found himself back on the farm, the old farmhouse creaking in the distance, the golden grass shimmering against the deep blue, cloudless sky. He had not expected Fenris to dream of a location that he had created. He…wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it, but it was a pleasant feeling, regardless. Touched? Appreciated, perhaps? Similar to the smile towards a friend wishing to hang a piece of your art in their home.

            The twisted tree was in front of him, holding a greener and denser canopy than it had when he had originally created it, morphed by Fenris’s memory of it, as the elf in question stood underneath it, his arms crossed over his chest as he head tilted to the side. He was facing away, looking at the building with interest. He wore the plain black shirt and pants he had the last time they were here, his hair loose and hanging down his back. It was fairly kempt, unlike how it had looked in the memory.

            As Solas began to approach him, the elf turned, hearing the grass swish away with the taller man’s stride. He dropped his hands, his posture relaxed as he pushed up his sleeves. It was such a startling difference from the memory that Solas had witnessed earlier and he willed the image of the feeble slave away, favoring the image in front of him. This Fenris was the true Fenris, after all, even if he was being contained behind the mask of a subservient creature. After all, he would soon be able to drop that mask, and that idea made Solas smile.

            An ebony eyebrow arched up at his changed expression. “Is something amusing you?”

            Solas shook his head as he stopped beside his friend under the canopy, still grinning. “No. Rather, I have good news.”

            The second eyebrow joined the former now, surprised. “Oh?” He turned slightly towards him, Solas’s necklace hanging from his neck.

            It drew the mages gaze for a moment before his eyes met Fenris’s instead, a warmth blooming in his chest. “Yes, I have found you,” he answered, nearly chuckling. He was on the precipice of jubilation.

            The warrior frowned incredulously, growing flustered as a blush crept from his face to his ears and Solas grinned wider, amused. He put the elf out of his misery and clarified, “Your cell, _lethallin._ We shall be able to escape soon.”

            Shocked, Fenris turned completely towards the mage and took a step back, staring into Solas’s face, the blush clearing quickly. “…what?”

            His amused grin morphing to a soft smile, Solas nodded. “I managed to find it in the Fade, unless they have moved you.” Fenris shook his head immediately, and Solas continued, “Then I know how to get to you, and I know how to leave.”

            “I…” Fenris started, his shock turning to a worried expression, a fearful hope in his eyes. “The guards…”

            “I will be observing them as best I can. I have a rough plan for eluding them as of now, but I am not familiar enough to risk a window of opportunity as of yet,” Solas answered truthfully, his smile not faltering.

            “What about your cell?” Fenris asked, his voice evening out from the worried pitch he had before. “How will you leave?”

            “I am a mage,” Solas answered, inclining his head, “and there are no wards on my cell, at least not yet. Getting out of it will be simple. Staying out is the hard part.”

            The warrior cast his eyes back towards the house, staring through it as he mulled over this new turn. Discontent to stand under the tree, Solas made a move towards the broken home, gesturing for his friend to follow. The other man nodded and trailed behind him. The two elves pressed through the tall grass, the golden blades rustling softly as they cut through it, the wind stilling for the time being.

            The wood on the porch of the house was dry but old, every step from the lithe men being answered by a creak and groan from the tired planks. The door squeaked irritably as Solas pushed it open, looking through the space of the long abandoned homestead. Much of the furniture in the living room had rotted and fallen apart, with some sturdier and better made pieces still upright, though he was not inclined to use them. Eyeing the staircase, Solas tested the first few steps with his weight before determining that they were safe to climb and nodded his head for Fenris to follow him up.

            After they emerged from the stairs to a largely ruined second floor, worse off than the first story of the house by far, and a brief climb up a short ladder, the two elves emerged into a large attic area. Some shingles and materials from the roof had caved in to cover a portion of the area, but some of the roof still arched up over the room, protecting some of the lingering artifacts that were placed up for storage. The light of the sun shined heavily on to the bleached, broken shingles as they littered the area, pieces of furniture becoming less decrepit as they moved closer to the still standing wall under the overhang.

            “This is where you found the chest with the jawbone, correct?” Solas asked, walking to a standing mirror on a swinging hinge whose surface was so dirty he couldn’t see a reflection.

            After a moment, Fenris answered. “Yes. Are there more things up here of yours?”

            “That is unlikely,” Solas answered pleasantly, putting his hands behind his back and leaning forward to inspect the mirror more closely. He glanced to see Fenris standing at a faded green vanity, fingering the boxes and cases on the surface but not opening them. “It is your dream now, after all.”

            Fenris took a breath and paused for a moment before shaking his head slightly, deciding not to speak. He turned to shuffle between two fallen pieces of wood, pulling his foot over a long chest to make his way towards Solas. He hissed as a tangle of his hair caught in a splintered section, reaching up immediately to grab at the plank to get himself loose.

            Solas moved towards him just as he pulled away from it, bringing his other leg over the chest now that he was free, standing nearer to the mage. He rubbed at his head and frowned up at the broken ceiling.

            “Perhaps coming up here was not the best idea,” Solas chuckled, plucking two strands of white hair off the plank that had come clean off the warrior’s scalp.

            Fenris shook his head as Solas cast them to the ground, “No it is—,” he began, and stopped as his eyes moved down and stopped at Solas. “Your…you have hair?”

            Solas uttered a short laugh and reached up to touch his head, feeling the fine prickles from before. He had stopped hiding aspects of himself, at least the ones that he could see. He still hadn’t seen what he looked like since he had been imprisoned. “Did you think I was incapable of growing it?”

            Fenris rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through the section of hair that had snagged, untangling it easily. He turned his eyes around to the furniture again, his left hand lowering from his hair to touch the jawbone around his neck for a moment. Turning his eyes back to Solas, he asked, “What did you look like before?”

            Solas blinked, “Before what?”

            Fenris shrugged, “When you were younger?” He smirked a little, “When you cared about how you looked.”

            It was Solas’s turn to roll his eyes now. Enduring Dorian and Vivienne had been enough, now Fenris was on his case too? Still, he was willing to entertain that curiosity, even if he had to be careful about it. He had to fib at least a little bit, the ornate clothing of the court of Mythal being a little too high-taste for an elf who purportedly did nothing by wander the Fade alone in the woods. Although most of his time had been out in the field rather than in the grand halls of the Evanuris, that clothing still would not quite fit. He would simply change his hair and face, he reasoned. That should suffice. Well, sans the vallaslin.

            He closed his eyes and envisioned it, a soft flurry of small glowing wisps coming into being and shooting around his head in winding circuits. The auburn hair on most of his head sprang to life, growing quickly to imitate the style and pattern that he remembered, weaving gently to lie over his right ear and over part of his face, settling in thick locks against his chest and shoulder, the other quarter of his head remaining as it was. His freckles were less pronounced then, and his skin was smoother, tighter around his eyes.

            The flying lights receded in a flash, letting the changes settle. The hair was suddenly heavy and the mage shook his head, missing the nostalgic feeling of hair in general, as well as having this style in particular. Realizing it was a bit plain, he flicked his pointer finger against his thumb a few times, cylindrical beads springing to clamp around locks of hair close to the middle of their length. After a moment, a bit nervously, he looked back at Fenris.

            The elf looked surprised as he took it in. A grin started to tug at the corners of his mouth and he hastily covered it, sputtering.

            Solas frowned, a little offended. Was he actually laughing?

            After a moment Fenris cleared his throat, pressing his fingers against the branching lines on his throat as he did, fighting a losing battle against his upturned lips. “I’m not sure what I expected, but this was not one of them,” he finally said, a bit apologetically. He reached with his left hand to touch but stopped half way there, catching himself. Clearing his throat again, he pulled his hand back, the smile fought off successfully now as he averted his gaze.

            Solas shook his head and smiled despite himself. “You may.”

            Fenris looked back, embarrassed and skeptical. “It is not an illusion?”

            Solas shook his head, his hair swaying as he did, the metal beads glinting in the sun light even as they stood near the shade.

            After a moment of indecision, Fenris took a short breath and brought his hand back up again. Hesitating for a split second, his left hand hovering right beside Solas’s face, his fingers touched down against Solas’s scalp and gently broke through the waves of coarse brown hair. The rough skin of his palm pressed wonderfully against the mage’s skin. Solas unconsciously leaned into the gentle touch, his eyes closing as he enjoyed the sensation.

            As Fenris pulled is hand down through Solas’s hair, his fingertips brushed along the antihelix of Solas’s ear. The touch sent a jolt directly from the mage’s ear straight to his groin and he inhaled sharply, immediately reaching to grab the other elf’s hand and moved it away. Fenris took his hand back after quickly as Solas dropped his own, the brown locks falling gently from Fenris’s grasp over the mage’s shoulder. After a moment of silence, small finches chirping in the far off distance, Solas opened his eyes again, letting out the breath he had been holding through his nose now that he had collected himself.

            Fenris blinked when they made eye contact and quickly withdrew his hand completely, letting it fall to his side. “It isn’t as soft as it looks,” he muttered sheepishly.

            Ignoring his fluttering heartbeat, Solas answered, “You are not the first to say so.” He paused as Fenris hummed in answer, deciding to continue against his better judgment. “Shall we compare?”

            The warrior’s face snapped up as he looked at the mage, surprised. “I—yes,” he answered before grimacing and touching his own hair now, fidgeting. He forced a confident look and pulled his hand back to his side, repeating his affirmation. “Yes, you should.”

            Finding him painfully endearing, Solas smiled and crooked an eyebrow as he raised his hand to touch his friend. Before he could get too far, however, Fenris caught his palm, the mage’s extended fingers wrapping around the shorter elf’s thumb on instinct as he was halted in his advance.

            “Change your mind?” the mage asked, his tone charming.

            “I’d like you to braid it,” Fenris responded as he tried to quell his nervous tone, dropping Solas’s hand and releasing him. “That is, if you are able,” he added.

            Solas smiled easily, raising his hand and conjuring the brush that he had created in the broken down mansion ballroom. “I would be a poor example of an elf if I could not handle a simple braid.”

            Fenris’s countenance eased at the acceptance. “Good point,” he answered, a flicker of a smile before he looked around for a place to sit, seeming antsy now. The sun was higher in the sky than it had been, the sunlight streaming in beams through the broken roof as the elves attempted to look for seats. Throwing some hair over his shoulder, Fenris leaned over near a long, gold-edged trousseau chest and cleared debris away from it as Solas pulled at the structure to situate it into a slightly better position. He brushed dust from the flat top of the container as Fenris threw three shingles up the slope made by the fallen section of roofing, the pieces clinking sharply as they broke apart, sliding slightly before catching on other pieces. Solas released himself from his younger visage, the hair waving gently before disappearing all together, and looked to the warrior. They met eyes and he gestured for Fenris to sit first.

            After they situated themselves on the strongbox, Solas began the process of pulling Fenris’s hair back behind him, his nimble fingers gliding gently through the mussed locks. Fenris’s hair was much softer than his own and a little bit thinner, but not by much. His hair was quite beautiful. The warrior was tense under his hands at first, but his shoulders began to slump and ease as Solas pulled the ivory mass into one hand and considered. Deciding on a four strand braid, he reached for the brush he’d lain along one of his legs and got to work.

            They sat mostly in silence, the soft tweets of the birds fluttering softly as the breeze picked up again, the creaking of wood and short rattles of fabric and curtain rustling to add to the symphony of sounds. As Solas fully separated the white strands and began to intertwine them, he chastised himself for his reaction when his ear was grazed. Of all the things to set him off, it was that? He felt weak for it having happened, and weaker still for not wanting to stop him and simply endure the pleasure in silence. Setting his mouth into a stern line as he worked, resolving to not make this into something that it wasn’t.

            After a few minutes of working his wrists and fingers, Solas saw Fenris shuffle. A moment later and his baritone broke through the song of their surroundings.

            “Your ministrations feel…odd.”

            “It is a braid that is sectioned into four locks rather than three,” the elder elf explained.

            A pause. “I have never heard of something like that.”

            He chuckled, bending his wrist to pull a section through. He was about half way to completion. “It has many variations. I find this one to be the most beautiful.” A beat. “You deserve no less.”

            Fenris stilled for just a moment before taking a hard breath, his shoulders rising.

            “ _Venhedis_.”

            Solas furrowed his eyebrows as his work ran through his fingers when Fenris moved away. His eyebrows pulled low over his eyes, thrusting his gaze away from his hands, looking forward to locate the other elf. Just as a question of his offense formed on his lips, they were silenced by the mouth of the other.

            His body locked up as his brain stuttered, realizing what was happening but yet to reconcile that it was _actually_ occurring. He registered Fenris’s fingers against his jaw as the other man pulled away from him.

            Suddenly remembering to breathe, Solas used his lungs as his eyelids fluttered open. When had he closed them? He leveled his gaze on Fenris now, the intricate webbing of his emerald irises much more obvious from such close proximity. His gaze was piercing, just as it had been the last time they were here, the last time he had truly surprised him.

            His eyes dulled, not finding what he was looking for and he pulled away, removing his hand from Solas’s face. He opened his mouth to speak. “I did not ask.”

            Solas answered without really thinking about it, his head in a fog as he reached for the elf in front of him. His voice was barely above a whisper as his fingers curled around the back of Fenris’s neck. “ _Ma elas_ ,” he murmured as he pulled Fenris back to him to return his kiss.

            The other elf responded immediately when their lips met again, lowering himself back to the chest as his hand came back to the place on Solas’s face it had rested before, his palm curved against the edge of Solas’s sharp jawline.

            The mage’s pulse thrummed in his ears, drowning out the rest of the sounds that had been a comforting addition to the atmosphere, now wholly unnecessary distractions. He parted from the kiss for a moment and turned his head to neatly fit their mouths together, hearing Fenris breathe through his nose when they connected again. He threaded his fingers into Fenris’s hair on the back of his skull, eliciting a muffled hum from the man’s throat that only served to make him kiss harder. Solas kept his left hand to himself, anchoring it on the chest underneath them to give himself extra leverage. He pushed his body closer as Fenris dragged his nails up from the base of Solas’s skull to his crown, ignoring his conscious as it chirped at him to cease. He told himself it was a terrible idea as the tip of his tongue flicked against Fenris’s lips. But he wanted this, he reasoned, the other elf answering by opening his mouth and deepening the kiss.

            They needed this, didn’t they?

            Solas leaned into the movement as Fenris drug his thumb back across his cheekbone, his other hand making its way back to cradle Solas’s head to him, etched fingers pressing at the top of his neck. The mage responded immediately when the thumb didn’t stop, pressing against the helix ridge of his ear and gliding across it to the tip, a pleased sound loosening from his throat before he could muffle it. He felt Fenris smirk against his lips when he groaned, the wicked elf pressing the flat of his ear between his pointer finger and thumb and dragging the nail in a circle, curving back under the ridge again.

            Resisting the lurid images that flashed through his mind and the overwhelming desire to grab Fenris by his braid and expose his neck to his teeth, Solas pressed his left hand against Fenris’s taught chest, easing his grip in his hair as he broke the kiss. Their lips popped as they separated and it nearly pulled him right back in after all that effort. Taking a breath as Fenris mercifully let go of his ear, his fingers lowered to rest against his neck instead. He opened his eyes, composing himself as he met Fenris’s winded but triumphant look, his smirk showing off his teeth.

            “ _Harelas da’fen_ ,” Solas muttered, pulling his left hand back to the furniture under them and resting his right hand gently against Fenris’s cheek. “You play a dangerous game.”

            Fenris snickered, moving his hands away and resting his left hand against the one Solas held against his face. “The Dread Wolf would be proud,” he joked, voice husky.

            Solas laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ma elas._ \- You have permission/You are allowed.  
>  _Harelas da’fen,_ \- Rebellious little wolf.  
>  \---  
> Ugghhhh this is the first time I've written a kissing scene in six years. Thanks Onyona for dealing with my paranoia about it sucking during your proofreading haha. Thank you all for the comments you've given me, they really encourage me forward! :) They are very appreciated!
> 
> Elvhen is from [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/series/229061) as always.


	7. Chapter 7

            The breath he had been holding escaped quickly through his teeth as Solas retrieved his arm. He threaded it back through the iron bars and peeked at the lock of his cell door, observing the ward he’d placed on the mechanism. With a flick of his wrist, he should be able to shift the pins just right to get him out. Though he may be capable of blasting out the door, the sound would attract unneeded attention. In an escape attempt, that kind of action seemed counter intuitive at the least.

            Pausing to listen through the whispers of the lyrium, indicating no one was approaching in ear shot, he snapped his fingers. A soft shimmering sound, a click, and the door was open, releasing slightly from its frame to swing out. With a satisfied smirk, he pulled the door shut, snapped, and locked it again, shaking out his hands to get rid of the itchy, burning feeling of the red lyrium at his use of magic. The ward should hold for a time.

            His cell block had become quiet as of late. There hadn’t been people trafficked in and out for days, and he was starting to grow concerned that they were moving to storm Orlais at this point. He was still given food and water, but that was dwindling even so, and the guard rotation had begun to falter in consistency. They were definitely moving out of the castle.

            Feeling tired, he pushed himself away from the door and leaned against the wall close to the bars, closing his eyes as he reviewed the plan one more time that he’d discussed with Fenris a week or so prior. When the guards’ numbers had dwindled to the point that they would have the best chance to sneak out, Solas would break out of his cell. Using the route he’d walked multiple times in the Fade through the castle, he’d make his way as deftly as he could to Fenris’s cell. He’d unchain him and together they would make their way to the hidden family exit that led to somewhere in Redcliffe village. From there they needed to find cover as quickly as possible, either hiding among buildings to make their way out of the city and into the wider Hinterlands or escaping directly to the nearby tree line. He had vague memories of the Redcliffe area when they walked through it before as a group, but he felt confident that he remembered enough to get them both to safety.

            He gripped his fist, a surge of anxiety branching through him. If that exit was blocked, they would be in great danger by having to backtrack out to the main courtyard. They couldn’t scale the gate to the bridge which was very likely closed, but there were other routes he’d seen in the castle, ghostly and difficult to discern if they were actually able to be used at all. They would also be going back into the heart of the castle, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. There really was no Plan B, but possible options just in case. Being recaptured would mean…well…

            Shaking his head, he reached over to his tunic and pulled it back over his head, feeling strange with the added weight of clothing on him that he had grown accustomed to being without. He needed to confer with Fenris about the movement of the mages. If the soldiers were being removed like this, the mages would likely be lesser as well. This might be their best opportunity to leave, so he needed to be ready.

            Taking a long, deep breath to still his nervous heart, he exhaled slowly to relax. Shutting his eyes from the lonely prison, he entered the Fade quickly.

            He found himself in a bright, sunlit place. The cobblestone streets were unfocused and warm from the sun’s rays, and the buildings were muted by the shining, yellow atmosphere. Shielding his eyes from the sun, Solas looked around to see faceless people milling about the streets and walkways, murmurs and incoherent voices drifting through the air. He was in a city, which was easy to determine as he looked on the high stone buildings of the area and the staircases leading towards the square and out to another place, but he had no recollection of this particular area. They were certainly not in any Ferelden city they had ventured into.

            He could feel Fenris here as he stepped through the streets and looked at the vines crawling up parts of some of the larger buildings, the drab stone only decorated by the invasive foliage and occasional tree planted in intervals throughout the streets. He passed through some apparitions that milled about, arm in arm, down the road as he touched the ivy-strewn pillar before him, the leaves vaguely smooth but with no real texture beyond that. Between the faceless, indistinct people and the vague sensations throughout the area, along with the light scent of heat and fishing piers, he decided that he was in Kirkwall.

            Intrigued to explore Fenris’s old home, but finding it difficult with the overzealous light from the bright sky, he decided to seek out the elf instead. He looked about for the broad-shouldered figure he’d seen the last time he was here, but he didn’t see anyone that matched, at least not so far as he could tell. The individuals seemed to be walking in patterns, and nothing truly indicative of much in regards to the direction of homesteads or high traffic areas, so Solas resigned himself to wander about, looking out for areas that were made up of mansions, or a worn down structure of a mansion. A dilapidated home shouldn’t be that difficult to find here, at least not in the nicer part of town. He had no doubt the slums or alienage were in a constant state of disrepair.

            The elf moved through the streets at a leisurely pace, his hands clasped loosely behind his back as he walked through the city in search of his friend’s abode. Kirkwall seemed pleasant enough, though he knew the majority of its residents did not live in this sector of the city, as Varric would describe it. It was largely visited by those in Lowtown only for the Chantry, and occasionally for the markets if they could be afforded, since most peddlers on the streets of the lower areas were swindlers looking for quick coin in exchange for empty promises. Considering the Chantry would be a staple of the area, it would be easy to spot, but unfortunately useless in locating Fenris. If anything, he had not heard bells tolling or the Chant being sung when he was in the home previously, so it was not likely that he had lived close to it.

            After ascending a short flight of stairs, he turned and noticed a mansion tucked into a narrow walkway of the upper area, a staircase flush against it side that led downwards, likely to a lower part of town. Spotting a lone tree in the center incased in pointed, black fencing, he turned to drift into the shadow of the walls surrounding the mansion’s exterior. The paint and finish on the outside had not seen care for some time, and the windows were dirty with the appearance of abandonment. It looked so out of place from the rest of the well-managed estates that this _had_ to be it, Solas was sure. Pulling one hand loose while keeping the other safely anchored against his lower back, he reached for the handle and turned it, giving it a little shove when it resisted his entrance. The hinges creaked in a familiar way, he made his way in.

            The darkness of the place was welcoming, the light streaming through the parted drapes just enough to make it illuminated, but too dark for him to see immediately as his eyes adjusted. As the bald elf blinked a few times, he heard shuffling from the second floor and turned to close the door behind him.

            “Fenris?” he called out, hearing the bolt click behind him as he moved into the main hall, placing his hand behind is back again while he walked passed a few candles sitting at the entrance to the foyer. He turned and spotted his friend at the base of the stairs on his right, getting a weird sense of déjà vu. He smiled and inclined his head, turning to approach the branded elf.

            The warrior met him half way, a hint of a smile on his face. “I didn’t expect it would be you this time.”

            Solas shrugged, letting his hands fall loose. “And I did not expect to be in Kirkwall again. Have you had this dream many times as of late, as you did before?”

            Fenris shook his head, his short hair still very odd to Solas as it swished freely around his ears. The mage reached up and gently pushed some of the man’s unkempt bangs from his eyes, running it through his fingers with a curious expression. Fenris didn’t seem to mind and answered his inquiry, “Not lately, no. You would know; I’ve been with you most of the time.”

            Solas smiled and let his hand fall, curling his fingers to his palm to run the flat of his fingers against Fenris’s cheek as it dropped. “Yes,” he replied, “though not always.”

            Fenris searched his expression for a moment before conceding with a nod. “If possible, I would like not to be here anymore.”

            Solas smiled and nodded, “ _’Ma nuvenin_.”

            Fenris returned the smile, “ _’Ma serannas_.”

            The somniari leaned forward and kissed the top of Fenris’s head shortly before looking about and dissolving the dreamscape. “Where to, _lethallin_?”

            “Some place…free.”

            Easy enough. In a moment, the familiar call of the gulls and constant sloshing of waves settled over them as the coast from the Free Marches came into focus, sand bright as it sparkled under their feet and clouds passed in long, powdery streams above them, barely enough to block the incoming light from above. He turned to Fenris expectantly, who was looking out over the ocean. Leaning in gently towards him, he murmured, “Is this sufficient?”

            Fenris blinked and turned with only minor surprise at the mage’s proximity. After a moment of meeting his eyes, he answered, “Yes,” his breath intermingling with Solas’s in the warm, humid air. Solas took a breath and closed the gap between them, sharing a proper kiss in the new dreamscape, far away from the confusing walls that sheltered him in Kirkwall, or the confining stone of Redcliffe.

            Fenris turned into him, pressing his chest against Solas’s as he moved to put his arm around him. Solas felt the shape of the jawbone necklace press between them and he smirked, suddenly surprised when he realized how consistent that item was throughout all their dreams spent together. Even if Fenris’s clothes and hair changed, this was nearly consistent through out every dream.

            Fenris broke away from him just enough to speak, still poised to kiss him again at any moment. He hummed quizzically.

            An airy laugh escaped Solas as he hooked his pointer finger around the two leather bands draped over Fenris’s shoulders and pulled, the jawbone shifting slightly between them. “You are always wearing this, even in Kirkwall. I wonder why that is.”

            The warrior pulled back this time, enough so he was flat on his feet and glanced down at the necklace. He touched it along the broken, dull teeth and answered, “It must be because I have it.”

            Solas’s eyebrow quirked inward, confused, “From the chest?” Surely receiving it from the dream hadn’t been _that_ important to him.

            As he guessed, Fenris shook his head and met his eyes now. “Ah, no, I actually have it.” At a more confused expression from Solas, he elaborated with an amused tone, “Would you believe me if I told you they didn’t remember who it belonged to?”

            The somniari chuckled and shook his head, “Not a chance.”

            He shrugged, “Well, there you have it.”

            Solas continued to laugh, shaking his head in disbelief, “They exude intelligence and presence of mind, do they not?”

            After a moment to contain their mirth, Fenris cleared his throat, stepping away from Solas to give him a serious look. The other elf sobered up and gave him his full attention.

            “The mages want to take me with them.”

            Solas took a breath, anxiety rising in his chest. It had been a fleeting thought, one that he pushed aside as a possibility. He should have known better than to ignore that very likely turn of events. “But they have not. Their forces are already on the move, yes?”

            An affirmative shake of shaggy white hair followed. “The guards are spread thin on their shifts, as far as I can tell, and Alexius has already left the castle. Only a handful of mages linger.” He licked his lips, nervous, “The only reason I’m still here is that they are afraid I will escape and have yet to come up with a plan to transport me to the war front.”

            Solas flared his nostrils and clenched his fist, “Then we must move quickly.”

            Hesitantly, Fenris nodded in agreement. “When?”

            The mage pressed his lips together and considered for a moment. “Do you remember when I told you that I couldn’t end your dream?”

            The warrior thought for a moment before nodding.

            “I wasn’t quite clear when I answered before. I can end your dream by waking you up, but I cannot end a dream while you are still in the Fade, I can only change it,” the mage elaborated.

            Fenris stared for a moment before recognition dawned on him. “You will wake me up then?”

            “How long have you been asleep?”

            He paused to consider again, “Not long, perhaps a couple of hours.”

            Solas nodded, resolute. He hadn’t expected to use the ward so soon, but the time was finally upon them. He felt nervous, excited. “When will the Venatori return to wake you?”

            “It will be at least another two hours, potentially,” the warrior surmised, “though considering their intentions, I cannot say for certain.”

            Solas sighed, looking sincerely at Fenris. The warrior was confident, but he could see the fear and anxiety there. It was all down to this now; they had a window of opportunity to get out for good. They had to take it. He made a move to speak but Fenris cut him off.

            “Solas, wait.”

            Surprised, reveling briefly in the sound of his name in his voice, he let Fenris speak.

            “If…” the branded elf started, hardening his expression. “If we are not able to escape, I cannot go back.”

            Solas shook his head, breathing harshly through his teeth, recoiling from the mere thought of it.

            Fenris continued, his voice stern. “They intend to take me to the front lines of a battle, Solas. If I’m lucky, they will have plenty of lyrium on reserve, but they will not have enough. They will use me until I’m dead, or they will keep me at the brink of it. I…I will not bare that.”

            Taking a deep breath, Solas straightened his posture and returned Fenris’s serious look. He didn’t bother to respond, he understood what he was suggesting. He would not entertain it until absolutely necessary. “I will see you soon, Fenris,” he said, smiling reassuringly, though it didn’t reach his eyes as he avoided the topic. “Once you wake up.”

            Fenris blinked and disappeared immediately, the dreamscape shuddering as his consciousness left the Fade in a rush. Solas pressed his teeth together with a sharp click and stood up straight. He needed to hurry.

            The dirty stone registered against the back of his head as he left the Fade, and he flung to his feet in an instant. The shuddering cantor of the lyrium filtered back into him as he returned to the waking world, pressing against his agitation.

            _No. Leave me._

            With a shake of his head and a quick stretch of his limbs, Solas pressed against the iron bars that caged him. Seeing and hearing no movement outside, he set his jaw and flicked is wrist, the shudder of magic followed by a soft few clicks as the lock opened again, setting into motion their escape. This wasn’t a practice run or further study. It was time to get out.

            He opened the door and shut it again, snapping to lock the door in place again. It felt strange being on the outside in his physical form, passing the empty cells in a slow stride to the door. All he could hear was the dripping of water that he’d become accustomed to, leaking through the stone from the ground water pressing against its walls underground. Pressing himself against the outer door, he cast his blue eyes over as much of the outside as he could see.

            No one.

            Realizing his hands were shaking, he shook them out in an attempt to keep them steadier and get rid of some adrenaline, opening the door as quietly as he could as he tried to calm himself. Just follow the route once you’re out. Stick to corners, walls to hide behind. This is simple, you’ve gone over this plenty of times in the Fade. This isn’t the first time you’ve snuck around places you didn’t belong.

            Closing the door behind him once he entered the hall to find it devoid of any presence, he quickly began down the route he’d memorized, taking note of the interior of the place to try to match the memories he’d seen, attempting to reconcile the versions of the hall that matched the present the most, round the corners quietly with a keen alertness. He was shocked not to hear any clinking metal on his wa—

            “Hey!”

            _Fenhedis!_

            Wheeling towards the voice, he barely waited a moment to take in the Venatori guard before raising his hand and blasting a shot of ice at the stunned man’s head. Before he could fumble with his sword, the shard connected hard with the side of the man’s face, a crack of bone echoing through the hallway as he and the ice landed to the floor with a crash.

            Wincing at the sound, Solas bolted around the corner and up the short stairs to the door. Hearing no commotion to inspect the altercation coming from the other side, he pushed through the door and closed it behind him. Forcing his nervous breaths into something quieter, he pressed himself against the wall and breathed. This place was almost as quiet as the last. He spotted a pillar of red lyrium jutting from one of the walls, humming and calling to the growing shards in his gut, grasping at his attention. He shook his head and willed away the compulsion, focusing on the hallways and cells around him. Minutely, just barely, he heard a shake of chains and rushed breath through teeth. Murmuring voices, a door opening, a growl of pain, and his heart went cold.

            That was Fenris. Actually, really him. His body, not just his spirit.

            Gulping down a swift breath to steady himself, Solas snapped his aura as close to his body as possible and peeked around the corner of the hallway. The door to Fenris’s cell was ajar, the ends of a dark cloak fluttering near the edge of it, moving hesitantly.

            He heard muttering voices in what sounded like Tevinter, two voices. He clenched his fists, considering. Should he attack them now, or should he wait? _Can_ he wait?

            A louder declaration in Tevinter this time and the cloak moved towards the outer hallway. Solas pulled his head back and pressed himself against the wall and waited to hear what direction they would go. A creak on its hinges as the door was shut, one pair of footsteps walking away, another door opened, then shut.

            Risking a peek, Solas leaned over again to find a clear hallway. There were at least two voices, but only one person left. So, one mage stayed behind. He could handle one. Padding quietly and quickly down the hallway, Solas leaned against the door to peer inside through the window near the top.

            He could barely make out Fenris hanging from chains attached to the ceiling, a cloaked figure blocking most of his sight as it faced toward their captor. Taking a moment to recall the sigil, Solas imagined the footing of the mage and stepped back, thrusting his hand in front of him. A low hum erupted from the other side of the door and the mage uttered a shocked, choking sound as his magic was suppressed. Giving him no time to recuperate, Solas wrenched the door open and came up behind the mage just as he was about to turn around. Grabbing the man by his hair under the hood and taking his dull chin in his other hand, Solas twisted with a grunt, snapping his neck. He fell to the ground in a slump, quickly disposed of.

            A ragged gasp drew his attention to Fenris again, looking over the friend he hadn’t seen outside of the Fade in months. To say the man was in a poor state would be an understatement, skin pale and sickly from lack of sunlight, stretched across weakening muscle and bone, face gaunt from malnutrition. Solas had no doubt that he didn’t look much better, but as the green eyes of the warrior rounded with surprise and then cautious relief, he decided he didn’t care much for that line of thought.

            “Fenris…” he muttered, sorrow evident in his tone as he stepped over the body and approached the restrained elf, his legs and arms in chains and clad still in the ripped black leggings he had seen in the memory. His torso was bare and exposed, inflamed skin surrounding the intricate lyrium tattoos scored into his flesh. It set Solas’s teeth on edge, hatred beginning to boil in the pit of his stomach.

            “I…”

            Solas turned to look at Fenris’s face as he took another step towards him. His rough voice familiar, but hoarse, and he already knew why, taking in the bruised and battered body in front of him.

            Fenris chuckled, the chains holding his limbs straight over and below him clacking faintly. “It was you after all.”

            Clearing his throat, Solas moved to Fenris’s ankles and examined the shackles there. Simple, but still required a key.

            “He doesn’t have the key. _That_ mage will be returning soon.”

            Solas clicked his teeth with his tongue. “There is more than one way to break a lock, _lethallin_.” He set his fingers along the edge where the key was to be set and pulled at the cuff to bring it as far away from Fenris’s skin as possible. “This may be unpleasant, but brief.”  He didn’t have the time to set up a ward, he would need to force these quickly. Carefully, but efficiently, he frosted the outside of the metal and wedged the hole with ice, then raised the temperature of the lock around the ice rapidly. The metal cracked and fell loose. He repeated the process on the other, and Fenris’s legs were free.

            He moved away as Fenris moved his ankles and, after grabbing the chains above him, bending his knees and attempting to pull his legs up to his torso, stretching and testing his strength. His arms were shaking badly.

            “Better?” Solas asked gently.

            Nodding, Fenris dropped his legs and allowed Solas to come up to him and repeat the process with the chains above him. The somniari frowned when he looked down at the lowered section of flooring. He gestured to Fenris’s legs.

            “I can’t reach from down there. I need you closer,” he instructed.

            After a curt nod, the captured elf swung his legs towards him, Solas careful to catch him where he was clothed and pressing close to him as Fenris wrapped his legs around his torso. Just able to see the locks, ignoring their proximity, Solas reached and did the same with the shackles above him, Fenris’s left hand first. Once it released, Fenris anchored his forearm on Solas’s shoulder to keep himself up, thighs tightening around the mage’s torso. Pressing a hand against Fenris’s lower back to help counter balance his weight, Solas hastily frosted the other lock and shifted his footing to brace himself as the elf’s other forearm rested on his other shoulder, a quick breath washing over his face as Fenris was freed.

            Moving his hands to keep Fenris held aloft, he tilted his head up to speak, catching a flash of a smile before Fenris kissed him. His body shifted forward to press almost completely against him and Solas returned the kiss, enjoying the gesture despite the differences between here and the Fade. In the Fade they were strong, clean, and healthy, able to take their time with moments like this. As much as he wanted to continue, neither of them had the luxury right now

            Fenris broke the kiss first, pressing his forehead against Solas’s. “I hoped you would come, I just…”

            Solas shushed him gently, understanding his fear as he nuzzled against his jaw. “I understand. Anything is hard to trust in a place like this.” He pulled away to meet his gaze. “Can you stand?”

            Another nod and they both moved to get Fenris on his feet. He shook only slightly, but his arms were far worse, having been shaking the entire time he had anchored his weight on the elf. After a moment of getting Fenris together, the elf grasping the familiar jawbone hanging around his neck with one hand, Solas turned to the entrance just in time to hear the door further down the hall open.

            He gestured to Fenris to move with him to one side of the entrance. With a curt shake of his head Fenris moved to the other side to hide behind the ajar door, Solas taking point on the other. Splitting up covered more ground, certainly, but the elder elf was worried Fenris was too weak to fight off multiple people. Multiple people that knew how to manipulate his brands.

            Footsteps came up to the doorway and stopped abruptly, as the mages likely took in the empty set of chains and their dead comrade on the floor.

            “He’s escaped?!”

            “How?!”

            As one moved through the door to make his way in, Fenris’s glowing hand fazed through the wood of the door and into the first mage, twisting and crushing an organ, before retreating back through. As he collapsed and the other mages began to ready spells, Solas stunned them with a short shockwave, Fenris ducking out from behind the door and crushing their hearts, taking advantage of the situation while he could. His brands were bright, magic licking up from each detailed marking.

            Stepping out from the room, Solas glanced down the hallway to find it empty. Good, they were doing well.  Fenris fisted his hands and shuddered as the light from the lyrium flickered before going out.

            “You have a route, I will follow,” he told him.

            Solas nodded and gestured for Fenris to follow him, setting out on the route that he’d planned previously, keeping Fenris close to him

            The yawning emptiness of the halls was unsettling, Solas being so used to the shadows of memories and spirits drifting through them. This was far too open. They truly must be operating on a skeleton crew with most of the forces out on the march to Orlais. They passed a few areas that Solas recalled having small methods of escape, but most looked to have been stoned up a long time ago, one being covered more recently. Perhaps they weren’t the first to leave.

            After disabling a few more guards on their way to it, the two escapees pushed open the door to the courtyard. They froze as they looked up at the sky, the blue corrupted by a slight green hue, clouds in a very soft arc towards a central point too far away from them to see. A gentle breeze was blowing, and the feeling of the twisted Veil only intensified from inside the castle.

            “The breach is growing,” Solas muttered, horror-stricken. The pressing need to retrieve his orb only weighed heavier on his mind now.

            “Without the anchor can it even be closed?” Fenris asked from beside him.

            Casting his eyes down for a moment, Solas huffed and looked across the courtyard, the iron gate firmly shutting off access to the stone bridge, as he suspected. They didn’t have time to ponder sealing the breach now. The path to the secret passage was just up ahead.

            “We are close, let’s go,” he said, interrupting Fenris’s chain of thought and continued down the stairs to the grassy area below, looking around to try and spot anyone in the vicinity. As they crossed the field, he heard something up above them. Just as he moved to make a barrier, an arrow whizzed through the air and hit him square in the shoulder, the arrow head sinking completely into the muscle there.

            He cried out and stumbled back, Fenris growling and making a move to attempt to dash up the high wall, but Solas blocked his way.

            The archer bellowed in Tevinter while he grabbed for another arrow, never taking his eyes off the two. Solas thrust his right hand up in an arch and shot a spray of ice shards at the man, forcing him to duck behind the ramparts to avoid the attack. As the man came back up to fire, Solas raised his wounded arm and clenched both fists and jerked them backwards with a pained grunt, reversing the momentum of the shards and skewering the man from behind.

            Hearing sets of footsteps coming along, Solas grabbed Fenris and ran towards the door in front of them and pushed through, slamming it behind them. He froze the knob mechanism before taking a steadying breath.

            Fenris reached for the arrow buried in his shoulder and Solas shook his head, brushing him off. “We must get further along. We can attend to it later; I don’t have the mana to waste.”

            The warrior shook his head and retrieved a knife he’d lifted from one of the guards from his waist line. “Cut it down, at the very least, somniari.”

            Solas reluctantly grasped the hardwood of the shaft close to his body as Fenris took hold of a section not far from his grip. With a swift hack down, the larger section came off. Solas groaned as the arrowhead jerked inside the muscle of his shoulder.

            Replacing the knife and tossing the body of the arrow, Fenris nodded.

            Ignoring the pain, Solas moved the rest of the route carefully, aware that any soldiers that currently were in these halls would have heard the commotion outside. There were fewer here still, Fenris largely able to take care of them with a swift dash and crush as they moved through the halls of animals pens, soldier’s quarters, and weapon containment. The carpets and furniture were neglected, mold and the smell of spores and stale blood constant throughout, the addition of fur and refuse when they ventured through where the war dogs used to be kept, now empty.

            As he pushed through the final door, Fenris’s head tilted back to listen behind them.

            “I can hear them,” he murmured before shutting the door behind them, looking at the empty cells.

            “This is it,” Solas announced, approaching the stone wall at the end of the hallway. The stone may be difficult to move with his wounded shoulder and from it sitting unused, but he was confident he could move it. He ran his hand along the stones and found the one that had more wear on one side than the others from being pulled and pushed. He reached for it and grasped at it to move it as he had in the Fade.

            Nothing.

            He tried again with no give. Gingerly pulling his left hand up, the arrow stabbing as he flexed his muscles, he took a firm hold and shoved. The muscle squeezed around the sharp intrusion, pain screaming through his arm as he thrust to attempt to move the stone. He let out a pained noise and stepped away, grasping at his shoulder to ease it into a less painful position.

            Why wasn’t it moving?!

            Fenris approached him quickly, hands fluttering uselessly over the angry, bleeding wound in the mage. With a grim look in his eye, he turned back to the wall, touching where Solas’s hands had been.

            “You need to push it or pull it?” he asked, his fingers trailing along the edges.

            “Pull the warn side out,” Solas grunted, using a small bit of magic to numb the pain. “I am… No, it has to work.”

            Fenris rolled his shoulders and tried it, doing as Solas had instructed, teeth bared and angry as he attempted to wrench the brick out of the wall. It groaned quietly with a slight give, but no visible change on the outside. The warrior’s grip slipped and he nearly collided with the iron bars to his left, righting his body to keep himself on his feet just in time to avoid it. His expression was angry now.

            “It’s mortared, Solas.”

            “There must be another way we can get it to move,” the fade-walker responded, approaching it alongside him. “I can blast out the wall, at the very least.”

            “Do you have the mana for it?” Fenris asked him pointedly.

            Solas looked at his hands and frowned. He didn’t have the mana currently, but he could use the red lyrium. “I have…I can use—.”

            “No,” Fenris rejected flatly, knowing exactly where he was going with that. “Use me before you even consider that.”

            Solas wrinkled his nose, appalled at the very notion. “We are talking about _freedom_. I will not stoop to their level of using you for mana if it is not necessary.”

            Fenris bared his teeth, “ _Kaffas!_ It is different if I give you _permission_. This is not the time for you to be stubborn!”

            Solas shot him a hard look. Fenris met it for a moment before glancing at his hand. He turned to the brick in question. “Is this one necessary for the mechanism to work? I can pull it out.”

            The mage nodded solemnly and he cursed, rubbing his face as he tried to think of another solution. Solas shook his head and pressed his good hand against the surface of the wall. Not far off was the sound of a door opening followed by footsteps growing louder as their pursuers made it down to their level.

            “I’m destroying it,” Solas announced, stepping back from the wall as he brought his good hand close to him and tried to build up the magic to unleash on the brick.

            Fenris grabbed his pained hand and looked daringly at Solas, which the mage ignored. He held his hand in return, but had no intention of taking what he was offering.

            Giving into the whispering call for a moment, the surge of angry magic rolled in his stomach as he pulled mana from it. It hurt, but not like it did when he tried to staunch the growth of it. It was almost a pleasant heat that ran through him, pleasant like finally giving into a temptation, the taste of drink you’ve desired, the taste of someone you’ve craved. The warmth of sating a thirst before the guilt would come to quench the endorphins rolled through his veins.

            Fenris hissed beside him, likely angry at Solas’s choice as his grip hardened around his fingers, as well as his brands reacting to the surge of magic. Solas opened his eyes and channeled the magic into his hand, releasing a powerful shockwave against the brick, blowing it open with a thunderous clatter. Dust filled the room as a storm of feet swiftly approached from outside.

            The door flew open before the dust settled and they could see. The brick had blown back into the hidden area, breaking apart some of the staircase that lead upwards in a spiral. Pushing back the screaming howls of the lyrium with all his might, Solas turned to pull Fenris along with him so they could go up the stairs.

            “Fen—!”

            Before he could finish, Fenris screamed, releasing his hand as his brands erupted, light pulsing along the insides of the room. Lapping waves of white and blue played over his shaking form as he crumpled in on himself. He fell to his knees as he wrapped his arms around his chest, nails digging into his shoulders. The next scream was muted as he clenched his teeth together.

            Solas turned towards the door, five mages and outfitted guards standing in the doorway, blocking one way out. The mage in front had his hand extended towards Fenris, an angry calm to his willowed eyebrows.

            Solas didn’t have the time to think about this. He went to grab Fenris and carry him, but the wound in his shoulder protested too much to even get Fenris over a few steps.

            “Your escape attempt was valiant, I’ll grant you that,” the mage told him, gesturing to the armored guards in the back. “I _am_ curious how an elf would have learned about the previous tenant’s escape route, but it is of no consequence.”

            The somniari glared as the armored men made a move along the room to block the entrance. He extended his hand to them, the lyrium inside him bubbling.

            “Hold,” the mage told them, and they obeyed. “Elf, reconsider, I implore you.”

            Solas turned his angry glare to the mage now, his hand not wavering as he held Fenris’s shuddering, sobbing form under him.

            “We have no quarrel with you, nor any need to hold you further,” he said, beady eyes looking down a large, round nose. That face…he remembered it from Fenris’s dream, the one he’d killed after breaking out of his chains in that black, empty space.

            “I find no reason why we couldn’t let you go. But this one,” he said, twisting his extended hand, allowing Fenris a brief moment as he blindly sought refuge against Solas’s chest, shaking from the lingering pain. “We need this one.”

            Solas frowned. There were too many; he could fight but he likely wouldn’t make it out alive without Fenris’s help. He clutched Fenris closer to him and his frown turned into a scowl. He only had one choice.

            _I cannot go back._

            “No.”

            His hand still extended, he dipped into the red lyrium and thrust a blanket of ice on the soldiers, freezing them in place. He swung that hand over in an arc towards the mages and thrust his hand flat as they reached for their staves, dispelling their magic.

            They wouldn’t be disoriented for long, not long enough to escape and flee. Solas brought that hand back around and thrust it into the ground, a bright and swirling barrier knitting around he and Fenris to encapsulate them in magic.

            Fenris jerked, the magic ripping at his brands ceasing suddenly and he looked around, barely able to see past the barrier as it swirled around them.

            “I cannot escape with you,” Solas muttered, a lump of anger and regret developing in his throat. The other elf knitted his eyebrows and looked at Solas as the mage brought his hand up to cup his cheek, the pad of his thumb breaking the wet trail from his eye. “But I will not leave you behind with them.”

            Shuddering against his gentle touch, Fenris leaned into his hand and reached up to cradle Solas in a similar manner. It took him a moment before he could answer, “They will torture you. They will likely kill you.” His tone was low, choked as he pressed his forehead to Solas’s. “At least use what mana remains in me when it’s done. Try to get out.”

            Solas shivered, shoulders tense as his chest tightened at the pain that was to come, only punctuated by that statement. “ _Vhenan_ , I can’t—.”

            Fenris sighed, patting his cheek gently. “Don’t use words I don’t know,” he chastised halfheartedly.

            Solas let out a shuddering breath as he collected himself, hearing the hollers of the mages as their magic slowly returned to them. Soon the soldiers will thaw and attempt to break through the barrier with brute force.

            He sighed and opened his eyes, looking at Fenris with wavering determination, gazing into his resolute viridescent eyes, trying to memorize the webbing of them. “My heart, they will never use you again.”

            Relief washed over Fenris’s face before he leaned forward and kissed Solas in thanks, in adoration, in farewell. Solas barely found the attention of mind to kiss him back, his heart heavy with the price of another mistake that he had to pay, another life he had to take.

            They parted as the first beat of a sword rang through the barrier, the magic surging around them and Fenris shuddered as it reached his raw lyrium, Solas swallowing back the bile burning his esophagus from the lyrium and his anxiety tearing apart his insides. He embraced Fenris and the branded elf put his arms around his upper torso, arms clutching through his sweater as he clung to him, tense despite his request.

            Solas clutched him tightly over the back with his good arm, snaking his left hand to press against Fenris’s chest. He caught the rhythm of the elf’s heart, confident and scared, and slowly, gently, calmed it. 110, 100, 90… His breathing evened out as his heart rate slowed, his grip loosening into something easier, relaxed.

            Solas’s shoulders started to shake as the deep beats of the swords continued in earnest, the barrier growing weaker as his concentration shifted from protecting them both to protecting Fenris the only way he could. 80, 70, 60, 50…

            The elf was likely in a state of unconscious now, his hands resting against his broader shoulders rather than holding. There were words on the tip of Solas’s tongue, but he couldn’t say them. 40, 30…20…10…

            The banging on the barrier ceased and Solas heaved a great sigh, pressing his hand flat against Fenris’s chest, the pulse from his shaking hand resting against the warmth there. His next breath was choked, the lump in his throat fit to burst as his palm was met with silence.

            The barrier collapsed unceremoniously as he held Fenris tightly to him, the muffled sounds from the enemies outside now reaching him without a filter. He noticed a bit of red in his eyes, his aura a nearly visible color as the red lyrium tainted him beyond what it had before, the din of ethereal voices louder now, bouncing in his head as despair settled, hard and cold along the line of his spine.

            He barely registered one of the mages address him as he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Fenris’s, his body shaking as he tried to keep the pain from spilling out for the Venatori to see. They didn’t deserve Fenris, and neither did he. And now neither of them would have him again.

            A cleansing burst of magic rushed along the lines of Fenris’s lyrium, the lyrium in Solas shrieking in protest as he came in contact with the pure blood running along the other elf, his magic scouring over his skin in a coruscating wave. In a flash, Solas’s magic shuddered in the air as it all left Fenris’s skin, his brands now nothing but faded scar tissue.

            An enraged yell erupted in the room. Solas opened his eyes to look at Fenris one last time before a sharp blow caught him above his ear, sending him spiraling into abrupt, merciful darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you see why this went without an update for over a month (sorry about that.)  
> My editor, bless her, was asleep by the time I finally finished this blasted thing, so I've posted it after proof reading it myself. There may be lingering errors, and they will be fixed as they come to my attention.
> 
> Don't mind me, I'll just be over in that corner crying. Leaving comments is appreciated as always. <3


	8. Chapter 8

            He could scarcely recall a time where he had simultaneously been so cold and yet could feel nothing.

            The ache of his stiff, shaking muscles had become everything, engulfing all his physical sensation into a mass of tight, shivering fibers and sinew. The cold of the rainy nights, dismal and unforgiving, had seeped into him weeks ago, almost as if it was a state of being that he always was destined to inhabit. He was perpetually wet, either with the residual rain clinging to his sallow skin that made its way through the bars of the cage he had been put in, the sticky sweat that coated him from the stress of the angry lyrium and the malnutrition, or occasionally the streams on his face when he would break down in the company of no one but himself.

            After the failed escape attempt, he had been shackled in a cage which sat in the courtyard to brave whatever weather came, in constant view of at least two archers at all times. Aside from water and the occasional morsel of food, he was largely left to his own company in the large, empty courtyard. Sometimes they would remove him, taking him inside to question him, berate, sometimes torture him. How did he know about the escape route? Was he a spy for the Arl and not the Inquisition? Was Ferelden and the Inquisition working together? How had he removed the lyrium from Fenris’ skin? How had he developed that kind of magic? Who _was_ he? He answered nothing, the torment they put him through only serving to double the torture he was already putting on himself. For trying to escape, but failing to do so. For killing some of their men with magic, but not killing enough to get away. For taking their precious commodity away from them and yet killing the man he’d grown to love and had failed utterly and completely to save. He’d grown to love him, a truth he could only admit now that he was gone. Fenris was a person, he had been real, and he’d killed him, the only one who had ever become real to him in this wretched result of a world he'd created. Without him, this place may as well be a nightmare again, a reality he could fix, an existence he could cease if only he had his orb. Without Fenris, he needed none of it.

            The torture had done nothing for them, no matter their methods. He had endured far worse in the past by his own people, leaders and soldiers with a far more personal and vested interest in seeing him suffer, seeing him in agony. The magic of Elvhenan was beautiful and horrifying; spells that took days and weeks to cast could be used for beautiful things and terrible things, stressing the physical and spiritual body in ways scarcely imaginable in Thedas. These unimaginative Tevinters would win nothing and would receive nothing but the occasional pained sound and a vacant glare. They presumed the furrowed brow was for them, for their exacting and violent attentions. It was not. It was for the person it had always been for, and that was the fool who wore it.

            Even when the rain had largely passed, he had not been moved inside. The wind had started then, ushering the rainy season away in favor of a constant draft, battering his strained state even further. Solas watched day after day as the Breach grew, helpless and utterly devoid of hope of escape. Often he would lay and rap weakly against the metal bars on one side, crumpled on the floor of the enclosure and staring past it, always staring past. Fenris was gone. His orb was out of reach. Red lyrium was slowly poisoning him, just as he had seen it happen to others before. He hadn’t managed to sleep deep enough to even gain a chance to enter the Fade since that day. Some days he wasn’t sure if the Fade would even bring him relief again or if it would simply remind him of what he had lost.

            Potentially his only saving grace was that he could count the days now. Judging by the weather and the frequency of what little sun still came through the swirling mass that slowly covered the sky, he had been imprisoned for a little over six months in total. Six months. He thought back to the Inquisition, back to his small corner in Haven near the apothecary. Half a year felt like a blink of an eye, and yet thinking of being in Haven again seemed part of another lifetime. He recalled the first time he had spoken to Fenris alone, out on the banks of the lake outside Haven’s main gates. He had been stoic and rigid, not very friendly yet not unkind, and curious, if only slightly. He nearly had the audacity to chuckle at the insanity of himself, a man who has lived for millennia, falling in love with someone barely a fraction of his age, in anything less than years. The smile that tugged at his lips failed, crashing back down into a pained frown as he squeezed his eyes closed, ceasing his rapping against the iron of his enclosure. He brought his hand to his face and rolled over to turn towards the fortified wall behind him to keep his sorrow to himself.

            On his good days he could appreciate what he had experienced, and begin a bare outline of a plot to escape once again. He would need to wait to recuperate, when he could settle inside away from the frigid weather. During that time his mana would slowly return as well, and he could always use the red lyrium if he needed another source of mana. By then, he would be able to enter the Fade and potentially find another way. There may be spirits that yet linger, although he suspected that the larger the Breach grew, the fewer spirits there would be to greet him once he finally managed to cross the Veil again. He thought of Sorrow, and the inevitably of his companions with a sad, but determined attitude. He missed Fenris, the Inquisitor, but he acknowledged that it was better they do not suffer, either from the pain they had endured directly, or the pain his plan would unleash on them. That they would not witness it gave him some peace of mind. He could cowardly hide his identity from those he feared telling the most until the end, and still accomplish his goal.

            On his bad days, the red lyrium served to devour him in torment. The call was strong, painful in how it coursed through his veins, in his brain, and smothered his breath. Many times the muscles over his chest would tighten and suppress his organs, sending him into a sputtering fit, unable to breathe or swallow for agonizing minutes that stretched on for hours. He would lay catatonic in the cage, no movement but the constant shivering over his body that never ceased, blighted magic like liquid iron lancing through his skin. The brief periods of empty unconsciousness would be the only relief he received, punctuated by clear, undulated pain in his gut that would wake him from his brief respite. His thoughts of his friends were pitiful and selfish, wishing for them to be with him if only to comfort him with their presence. In his imaginings, he could believe Lavellan, anchor silent as a whisper, sitting by him with her unaffected hand in a gentle caress on his arm in a rare moment of honest kindness, telling him it will pass. He could feel Fenris around him, lyrium brands neither pulling nor pushing against his festering aura as he pressed his warmth against his back. He could hear him muttering darkly about killing the mages here, murdering all the Venatori for putting them both through such anguish and torment. He would alternate between pressing his hand flat against his chest and moving his thumb in a slow circle as it clasped over his shoulder. Once he attempted to entertain a consoling kiss to his shoulder, but it served only to hurt more than it helped. And yet, he still would not wish for death. His goal was too important for that, there were so many who could yet be saved. He simply had to find the will to endure it. Even then, there were times he found nothing but blinding agony that even his childish imagination could not console.

            When he heard the sounds of marching men one morning, he wasn’t sure if it was a hallucination brought on by the multitude of conditions he remained in or that the army sent to Orlais was finally returning. The weather had proven pleasant that day, one of a few with sunny weather, and he pushed himself to an upright position to peer at the entrance. As the gate rose, he could hear the metal of many greaves clanking together in step with one another. The Venatori filed in minutes later, battered and bloodstained as they marched through the courtyard, but they all had the look of victory in their shoulders, the few without helmets looking weary and relieved to return to the keep. Alexius headed them off, sparing no look around but forward. His face was set with a kind of determination Solas hadn’t seen on him the first time they met, even when he had faced the two elves alone. Then, he noted, he had look scared. Now he was the leader of a vicious army and carried himself as such.

            Solas pulled his legs up and leaned against his knees as the army continued to filter in like a river through an open dam, the chains of prisoners of war growing louder while the main bulk of the mages came back into Redcliffe proper. He frowned as he recognized none of the imprisoned townsfolk, many likely to be Orlesians captured to be used as fodder for more experiments. It was unlikely that the Venatori would attempt to use any as a political maneuver; they had no reason to deal in politics now that they had successfully conquered the largest standing force in their way. He wondered how long it would take for Tevinter to claim ownership of the cult, or at least suggest that they had been allied since the group’s inception. Perhaps they already had.

            His heart sank when he finally began to recognize faces, those both of scouts and soldiers he knew from the Inquisition and others he had met briefly elsewhere. It would make sense that the Inquisition would mount a force to protect Orlais, at least in some form. It did not surprise him they would fail, in fact he would have been more surprised if they had succeeded, given the membership they had when he was last in Haven. He winced when Fiona came passed the stone walls, the lyrium from her hissing and singing in a sour cantor that resonated with his own, like a harmony struck by a choir of despair demons in minor key. She looked up immediately as the sound met his ears, his being, and her gaze met his, a red light roiling behind her sad, pained eyes. It was a miracle she had survived the excursion, even if she had been in the camp of the winning side. Or perhaps it was a curse that she had not fallen with her indentured comrades. They shared a knowing look of both pain and sympathy before the continuing movement of the army pushed her closer to the castle, breaking their line of sight.

            A familiar purple shawl flicked into his line of sight. Battered and bruised, but still snarling with every intention of being free the moment she could, Leliana was ushered into the Keep with a larger company of mages and soldiers around her to keep her in place. Without their spy master…yes. The Inquisition had fallen, there was no doubt about it now. He had likely been right that Lavellan’s demise had been their undoing, and that this battle had been their last stand. What would that mean for him? He gritted his teeth at the notion that they would kill him now, after all he had been through. To die here and have accomplished nothing… He could barely stomach the thought. He would die in flight before he died in captivity.

            He barely caught a glimpse of her determined blue eyes, eyebrows rising with recognition as they met his before she was forcefully turned around, a gruff voice commanding she keep still as they escorted her into the castle. The torture chambers, most likely. He grimaced at the thought, anger and self-pity overtaking his mood again. He lowered his face into his arms then, no longer content to see anymore faces of those damned to pain and suffering for his mistakes.

            He sat there like that for a time, the marching almost a lullaby in contrast to the lyrium he’d endured alone. As he started to fall asleep a familiar voice came from the gates as the iron chains began to rotate and close the gate once more.

            “You left that there? Are you quite mad, or simply forgetful?”

            His ear twitched and he moved his line of sight to just above his arms, searching for the voice of the man that had caught them in the lower levels of the castle, on the brink of escape. He found him, his nose arched sharp into an oval on his profile from under the spiked hood he donned, looking not at him but at another Venatori soldier. He gestured swiftly back towards him, his dark, clean gloves fluttered from under the loose sleeve of his cloak for a moment.

            “I—messere--,” the soldier stammered.

            “Or did you, per chance, forget about its previous escape attempt?”

            “We were told to keep him there, messere. He is not a danger, we have made sur--,”

            “Not a danger! Hah! I should think not, not for some time. Remove the _rattus_ back to its cage underground, if you would. It is an eyesore.”

            Solas gripped his hands into fists, wishing his gaze alone could kill the mage in an instant. Although that would still be far gentler than he would prefer for him. He’d prefer it over hours, days. If it weren’t for him, he’d be out of this place, having long left the Hinterlands behind with Fenris in tow. He suspected he was likely a high-ranking mage, possibly orchestrating what they did to Fenris. He came after them to secure an asset only to have it reduced to nothing before him. He was angry for having lost a valuable tool while Solas was angry for having lost a valuable person. When he escaped again, he would seek him out. He would not live for what he had done to Fenris.

            Conscious of his nails biting the skin of his palm, Solas released his grip and stretched his fingers, the shaking starting again. Forcing his head back down, he pressed his brow to his forearms and waited for the soldier to take him inside.

            After a few hours, a group of mages and soldiers alike opened his small prison and took his shackles from the bars, clasping both wrists together and gripping his forearms. The sound of red lyrium grew as they wrenched him up to stand, Solas staying on his feet as well as he could while keeping his head held up. He saw a familiar Templar in the group, but he was different now. His eyes had been completely engulfed in red with a strange dark discoloration stretching out from around his eyes. He could just make out red lyrium beginning to appear on the outside of his skin.

            “It seems you got yourself into some trouble while I was gone,” he joked, a vague vibration in his voice that wasn’t there before. Yet another aspect of the red lyrium’s infection. His affliction was particularly exacerbated, likely from being used during combat. He would probably lose his mind in a few months.

            Solas squared his jaw and didn’t answer. The templar simply turned and led the small group back towards the castle. They largely took the route he had devised to escape, though a slight detour to avoid the torture chambers. He thought it curious they did not attempt to hide the route from him. A mage decided to voice this concern.

            “Serrah, the prisoner did attempt to escape once. Is it wise to parade him around like this?” he asked.

            The templar shrugged, “There are not many ways in and out of his cell block. He found one, this is the other. He will not escape again.” His tone made it sound simple, cut and dry.

            Solas did not emote as they made their way down further. The stones of the building had begun to move, he’d noticed, and red lyrium pillars were taking their place, stalactites of glowing veins beginning to pierce through the ceiling. It itched at the voices in his head, but he suspected it was worse for their lead.

            They lead him to the cell block he previously occupied and went straight to the cell he had before. It was odd seeing people here again. He had gotten so used to no one being present, of him being alone in here. More prisoners, none of them yet infected, he noted. Hopefully they would not be; he did not need more strength that the lyrium could use to resonate, and he did not wish this experience on anyone else.

            As they pushed him into his cell, he stumbled and looked at his shackles. Turning back toward them, the templar shut the door behind him and approached, taking the cuffs none too kindly.

            “Stay here, like a good mage,” he said, smirking as he freed Solas from at least his actual chains. He only grinned wider when Solas scowled. “If you try it again, they won’t let you live. I suggest you do as you’re told.”

            “You presume to believe that I prefer living,” Solas growled as the Templar turned and exited the cell, latching the door firmly behind him. He gave Solas an arrogant look.

            “You always have the means to end your own life, mage. You tried to escape and were caught, and yet here you are,” he snickered, acting as if he could peel Solas apart with that simple of an observation, sure he’d pinned down the knife-ear. “I’m sure that if you truly want to die, you will make it happen.”

            And with that, he turned and ushered the rest of the group out, but not before two of the mages placed a ward over his lock. When they left, Solas steadied himself against the wall and touched the lock, examining the ward. He scoffed and with a flick of his wrist, broke it in a swift show of defiance. A pathetic interlace, barely worth thinking about.

            He shuffled to the bedroll and sat down, removing his outer sweater and laying it against the dry stone beside him, followed swiftly by the damp breeches over his leggings. Content to let them dry and remain in somewhat dry clothing for a time, he laid back on the bedroll and heaved a sigh. He was finally inside. Although he could not presume that the torture would cease now that he was underground once more, the change of venue would certainly make the wounds and imprisonment at least slightly easier to bear.

            As he rubbed at the wear on his wrists left by the shackles, his mind turned to Leliana. He wondered if it would be possible to have her assistance in another escape attempt. Surely she could be of help since she was familiar with the castle. He recalled seeing her in the memory in the courtyard, the one that led him to find the dysfunctional escape route to begin with. Likely they had sealed it again, no doubt, but the brick could always be blasted away. All walls can generally be treated as temporary, given enough of the right amount of force.

            Fatigue swept over him again and he closed his eyes, content to lay outstretched on his back, a position he hadn’t truly been in for a time. The lyrium nagged at the edges of his mind, worse than it had been when he was outside, likely due to it growing in the structure around him. How the castle was growing it was…concerning, and it would only make the strength of it worse. He supposed that it was simply one more motivating factor to getting out once again among all the other reasons.

            He wasn’t sure when it happened, but when he opened his eyes again, the familiar buzz of the Fade was encircling him. A shuddering breath of relief escaped him, feeling at home again for the first time in so long. The edges of his vision were uncharacteristically dark, reddish, but there was little to be done about it. It was a poison that he could no reverse. At the very least, it was not loud here, not yet. He could explore as he desired until it started to interfere with his concentration. That day he dreaded, but for now, he would savor what he could.

            Solas stood and wandered the area. The castle had become so familiar at this point even through the ages that he could walk it with ease. It felt emptier now, having been a little over a month since he had truly traversed within it. Much of the faded shapes of memories were broken, barely recognizable as people as they moved around. Some that he remembered were crisp and bright were all together gone now, swept away by the force of the growing hole in the Veil. He pressed his lips together, looking at the spot where the blushing orderly had been flirting with the King all those times, never different, until now. They were nothing but thin shadows, flickering and breaking under the tide of the Breach’s corrosive magic. He could feel the pull of it himself now, something he had barely registered all the times he’d been here before since its inception. It was not strong enough to disrupt him, however, not at this moment.

            His legs carried him through the castle as he noted the faded atmosphere, the castle too strong and constant of a building to be affected by the Breach. Not yet, in any case. He shook his head at the nag of lyrium at his mind and walked, stopping once he realized he had unconsciously made his way to the door leading to the torture chambers. He squared his shoulders and jaw and stared deeply into the hardwood as if it held a puzzle or a riddle that he was required to solve. He knew why he had come here despite his lacking conscious attention to do so, but did he have the strength to continue? What else did he have to do here but mourn?

            Opening the door and crossing the threshold with a determined posture, he was somewhat surprised to notice that the sorrow he had come to associate with this place had been hollowed out along with the other memories of the castle. The strength of their pain had the illusion of weight, as if their lingering emotions could physically burden a person down simply by being near it. Even that was being eroded away and he frowned at the prospect, descending the steps and walking the halls. Even if the atmosphere was largely unpleasant, the memories still should exist somewhere to be remembered, even if only by the spirits that collected them. They were uncomfortable and unpleasant, but they still had a right to exist.

            He stopped outside a familiar door, his heart quivering at the idea of looking inside. More than likely, he would not be there. It would be another unfortunate soul, one of the many countless people who had been brought here to be treated similarly, cold and without mercy. He touched the tips of his fingers to the door with effort, his hand shaking slightly. This was unnecessary; there was no need to even be here. He was torturing himself and he knew it, but still, even if it was just a glimpse. Someway to see him beyond his imagination…even if it hurt, it could serve as a reminder of what was lost, what _he_ lost.

             Filling his lungs in an effort to steady himself, he strode through the doorway and paused on the other side. Seeing the chains before him empty, he shifted his eyes to the corner that housed the bedroll. He was more surprised than he ought to be to see Fenris there. He was shackled to long chains that ran to the wall behind him, slumped over in a sitting position with his forehead pressed against his knees, brands flickering minutely.

            On weak legs Solas approached him, cautious and silent as if he might wake him. Stupid, stupid! It was “him,” certainly, but he couldn’t interact with him at all. All he could do was watch and be there. Pathetic, he realized, to seek out his shadow in the midst of everything that was happening, everything that he had gone through. He comes back to the Fade after over a month of being without it and the first thing he does is search for the image of his dead…friend. He clenched his fists and scoffed, suddenly feeling like a fool. Another sound, this one an echo from Fenris broke him from his self-chastising, his head spinning back to the flickering form across from him.

            He approached as the man stirred; his brands darkened finally as he moved, back arching to pull his head away from his legs. Solas hesitated in the space as Fenris pulled his face from his knees. A strange fear gripped him before the pain did, swelling rapidly before clamping down under his sternum, the pressure of seeing him again almost too much. Solas crumpled and fell to his knees, taking another breath as the memory continued to play out, Fenris rubbing his face for a moment before leaning back against the stone wall behind him. He looked perturbed from waking but relaxed quickly, straightening his legs with an audible crack from his knees and ankles.

            This was one of many quiet moments he never really got to see, Solas realized. When they were in the Fade together, they spoke most of the time, only quiet when a comfortable lull in conversation crept upon them or they were…otherwise occupied. He shook his head abruptly and sat on his knees, willing the memories away. This was…not a good time. Remembering how he felt...tasted…it only made him want to reach out for the phantom here. He was already indulging himself in a stupid fantasy, this was quite enough.

            He couldn’t take his eyes from him for more than a few seconds at time. The branded elf attempted to untangle some of his hair with one of his hands but gave up rather quickly and simply leaned backwards against the wall, clutching at the necklace wrapped around his neck. Solas realized quickly that it was his and wondered when he had received it. Perhaps he even had it before earning it in the dream, or it was sometime later. Content to ponder, he watched Fenris slowly caress the jawbone with his thumb and stare into the middle distance. Every now and then, his eyes would flick to the door and he would still, almost like a statue, but eventually his muscles would loosen, and he would go back to staring at nothing and holding the pendant.

            Solas was unsure how long he sat there with the memory, contented in his morose demeanor to watch the only _person_ to live in Thedas spend a tense but comparatively painless time sitting in his cell. The mage took small pleasures in each of his little movements and mannerisms, ones he saw for himself and others that were new. Eventually Fenris worked many of the knots from his tangled mane, and at one point stood to stretch for a time before settling back down. As time passed the edge of Solas’s vision became more blurred and red, the itch creeping back into his spine as he fawned and mourned after a man he could never have back, that had changed how he’d thought of this place. It would never be real again, he decided, shaking back the chorus building at the back of his neck.

            Eventually he decided that it was time to leave. He would do his best not to return here. Clinging to Fenris would not make anything easier. Escape would be difficult, tearing down the Veil would be more difficult if he continued like this. He simply could not afford to pine after his memory. As he got to his feet, Fenris turning his eyes to the jawbone as it slipped out of his grasp from around his neck, Solas clung to that hope that he could still fix everything. Fenris would never leave him, his experiences and memories with the man would stay with him forever. He would never forget him.

            With one last steady gaze as Fenris cradled the trinket in his hand, a hint of a gentle smile to his face reminiscent of his expression when he had received it in the dream, Solas broke his line of sight and turned, tucking that soft smile away in his memory as he faded through the door and hastily drifted out of the chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. It's been 2 months, and I'm sorry. Klexos grabbed a hold of me and this chapter is just...it's so miserable. And sad. And Solas good lord you really had no idea what you had, did you?
> 
> Comments and critique are appreciated. Thanks you guys for being patient. <3


	9. Chapter 9

            The Fade shuddered in a violent tremor as Solas angrily swiped the area away from himself. Another attempt to reach Leliana had been abruptly interrupted yet again. She was not nearly as coherent as Fenris, something he should have anticipated and yet he had hoped would be different. The need to reach her mixed with his being spoiled by the other elf’s uncanny ability to remain cognizant in his dreams slowly eroded away at his patience. He would not be able to get out on his own; Leliana’s understanding of the castle was integral to a successful escape, he was sure of it. At the very least, he needed another way to go, even if he had to go alone.

            He scoured the flickering halls whenever he was able to enter the Fade, looking for anything that could work. Anything to cling to in order to give him hope of another attempt. Even as the memories were ground down around him into nothing, disrupted by the channeled destruction of the Veil, he remained vigilant. He would not accept defeat. What once was a world of people torn apart from themselves was now an abhorrent creature whose only end would be destruction, and he preferred that destruction to come from himself. At least then, it could be created into something worth saving, something that could flourish and grow. As it stands now, it would only fester and corrode.

            He stayed true to his word and did not return to Fenris, even when he could practically hear the shadow calling for him to go back. The comfort was difficult to resist at times when the spirits in the castle slowly left and the voices from the lyrium broke through his concentration and will power. But, he remained vigilant, and avoided the area as often as he could. He dwelled on memories in his waking hours but resisted the urge to recreate the dreams that they had shared. The beach in the Free Marches, the dilapidated dance hall, the crystal spires, the farm house. They were all visceral and real to him, but he could not go back. The only thing that waited for him there was despair.

            He huffed in the vibrating rhythm of the Fade, glaring unseeing at his vague and iridescent surroundings. The image of a white, decorative chair and swaying blotches of color came to his mind and he sighed, giving in to let the image flourish beyond him. His eyes slid shut as the lyrium itched, clawing weakly at the back of his eyes. When he opened them again, the meadow that he had created so long ago had sprung to life around him, vibrant and colorful with the smell of pollen and airy floral scents. The sweetness of it was almost gut-churning and he muted it, too used to the smells present in the wet, unclean prison that he physically resided in. The contrast between the two nearly threw the flowers in a horseshoe effect back around to being sickening.

            He turned towards the white chair, the vague warmth of the sun traveling across his bald crown as he did. His shoulders stiffened at the presence of an entity, flickering beneath the matching table beside the chair. He approached the set of furniture and noticed a flurry of yellow petals scattered amongst the grass. Frowning, he stooped down to look, meeting a familiar form, blue eyes looking up from the flowers it had picked clean, their centers now bare to the elements.

            The pair looked at each other in silence at first, Solas eventually resigning himself to stand and take his seat in the white chair he’d created. The sounds of winged insects sat far off in the distance as the knowing pain stretched between them.

            At length the spirit spoke from underneath the wrought wooden table, “I did not think you would be at the meadow again.”

            Solas frowned, “I did not think to see you again at all, _Abelas_.”

            Sorrow peeked out from under the table. Solas stayed leaning back in the chair, ankle balanced on the top of his opposite knee.

            “I have seen you, outside,” Sorrow said carefully, “In the cage, and in the other one. I was there, though you did not see me.”

            His frown deepened, disturbed by his lack of awareness to his acquaintance even outside of the Fade. “I am sorry I did not speak with you.”

            “You could not,” the spirit replied, correcting. “You have enough sorrow. The red makes it hard to hear it and feel it.”

            Solas pressed his lips together and pondered his words. Eventually he spoke, “Yes. It is a poison that erodes good magical sense and replaces it with taint. I suspect…” he stopped that train of thought, not willing to entertain the idea that he may not be able to enter the Fade one day. He would be dead or the Veil will be torn down before that happened, there was no point in dwelling on it.

            Instead, he changed the subject, “I suspected that you would have left the castle by now, _lethallen_.”

            Sorrow looked back over the flowers as Solas scooted back in his chair to lean forward, anchoring himself up by his elbows against his knees. The spirit spoke after a time, “Not yet, but I will soon.”

            The news was not welcome, but expected. The last familiarity would leave, despite how irregular their interactions had been. It had been a comfort, and a key, despite his inability to utilize either of them well.

            “I have appreciated your company and your help, _Abelas_ ,” he told it with sincerity.

            Sorrow nodded and turned to look at him. “You did not leave, but he did.”

            The ache jostled in his chest and he frowned, a wince sounding through his teeth. The spirit extrapolated, “He does not hurt now.”

            The mage took his time with an answer, clenching and unclenching his hands. “You are right. He is…,” he took a breath, “They cannot hurt him anymore.”

            “They hurt you instead,” Sorrow answered, the tone in its voice pitching very slightly.

            “You need not concern yourself with me, Sorrow,” he deflected, hoping to change the subject away. “At the very least, I am glad you were not turned. You are resilient for one of your kind.”

            The blue form canted its head, the light shining through the holes in the top of the table casting through it like water. “Maybe. Sorrow is a burden, but only the living can bare it.” It paused to look towards the sky through the holes in the flat surface above it. “The puncture still pulls, a leak in a weak dam. Soon it will flood.”

            “I will work to amend that, if I can, though the Breach is eroding the Veil much faster than I anticipated it would,” Solas replied, the comfort originally intended by the statement vanishing by the end. “In any case, you should not tarry much longer, Sorrow. I do not wish for you to be twisted by this world. You do not deserve that.”

            The spirit looked down at the petal-less buds in silence. Solas drew his eyebrows down as he felt the tug of lyrium again, the noise eeking back into the forefront of his mind. The distant parts of the meadow began to become less focused, colors spreading into the distance like watercolors on parchment.

            The spirit’s voice broke through the white noise from his side. He looked to see it stand and move to float beside the table in front of him. “You will be alone again,” it said, unhappy.

            Solas huffed a self-depreciating laugh as he reached up to rub circles in the skin of his forehead to ease the tension there. “I have been alone for a long time, but I appreciate your concern.”

            “You have your memories,” it offered, “although they are sad as well.”

            “Not all of them,” he murmured, dropping his hand and sitting up straight in the chair to level his gaze at the last entity that will likely comfort him for a long time. “Some are months past, others are a millennia ago, but they have been a comfort in some of my darkest moments.” His smile was weak, but he offered it to the spirit regardless. “It is good you collect what you do, Sorrow. It is a great burden that you bare.”

            Sorrow tilted its head and threaded its fingers together, “We both are burdened because of what we are.”

            Solas sighed through his nose, unable to argue with that statement. It was true on many levels; his own duties and Sorrow’s purpose always a weight that they both bore separately from everyone. It was their nature to be burdened, he supposed. He could barely recall a time where he had not been. “Indeed,” he said, voice low as he cast his eyes and his face towards the flowers at his feet.

            There was a pause, a realization of the sorrows they carried; the pain of many from the past that still begged for their attentions and their sacrifice, asking to continue being remembered.

            Solas stiffened when he felt the tremor against his aura as Sorrow’s rested gently against his. It felt soft, vibrating in a pattern that made this spirit unique from the others of his kin. Forcing his shoulders to relax, the mage closed his eyes and let the entity see the memories he wished, letting them live on with another for as long as it remained unaltered in the Fade. Arlathan flashed through his mind, the wars, Mythal’s death, creating the Veil and tearing parts of the Fade asunder in the process. The thousands of years in the dreaming sleep of _uthenera_ , directing hidden pockets of spies as the years passed by, watching the elves suffer and the world separate farther from the magic he held dear. He watched the murder of Felassan in Orlais and his agents locating the Orb while leading Corypheus to it, all before he finally woke in Thedas to roam on his own. The Conclave, the Breach, Haven. Cassandra, Leliana, Varric, the Herald, the mounting numbers within Lavellan’s inner circle. Redcliffe. Fenris.

            He let out a strangled sigh as Sorrow retracted his aura. So much had happened, and he had precious little time to fix everything that went wrong. He had already lost too much.

            “I will remember,” Sorrow said, breaking the silence. “Even when no one else will.”

            A ghost of a smile turned the edges of his mouth. “ _Ma neral, Abelas._ _Dareth shiral_.”

            “Find your peace,” it replied. As Solas opened his eyes he felt a tremor shudder through the Fade, his own magic shuddering to the frequency of it for a moment. When he finally lifted his head to look, Sorrow had gone.

            He awoke slowly that time, the chatter of red and dissonance murmuring in his mind before he had even completely returned from his dreams. He barely had the desire to stir at all, lying on the ground in his cell as he listened to the song chant circles in the back of his mind from multiple directions, whispering.

            The soldiers had long stopped coming to his cells and had ceased bringing in prisoners before that. The Venatori were spread out from the castle now and stationed all over parts of Thedas, continuing to march and conquer as they pushed north through the Free Marches. The Breach had grown at an incalculable rate, swallowing much and bringing the Fade back to Thedas in a way that Solas had not wanted. If he had done it, it would have been different, he told himself. If _he_ had gotten his orb in time, it would have shattered the Veil in one fell swoop. Thedas would likely have not survived, but merging the two would have been better that way. It would have been more like the world he knew, or so he told himself.

            The Breach had likely been exacerbated by Alexius’s stumblings. Soon after the magister’s return from Orlais, the Fade had begun to quake in spurts. After a time, Solas realized that it was due to the Tevinter’s attempts to do something but failing, considering the many times he attempted to use it over the past few months. Pillars of red lyrium littered the castle now, lighting the place now that the guards could barely be bothered to see that he was still alive in his cell. Perhaps he should count himself lucky that the red lyrium was sustaining him by this point. He would have died of starvation long ago if it was not.

            After a time he finally stood, adjusting the sweater around his shoulders as he did. Perhaps now he should just make a break for it, planning be damned. The rotations were low, more soldiers were spreading out and leaving the castle by the day, and Sorrow had gone. He knew Leliana was in the chambers somewhere, he could simply kill the few in his way to get to her. He had little to lose now; it was only a matter of time until he could no longer hope to fix anything. By now it might already be too late.

            With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the lyrium in the block outside his cell and glared unseeing at the wall behind him. Parsing out how to leave was fairly simple. He could always use the path that he took before, provided the lyrium and Venatori had not destroyed parts of the castle that he needed to get to the courtyard. There had been a few skirmishes at Redcliffe, but nothing the Tevinter cult could not handle. It was their own reckless fumbling that had caused most of the damage to the fortress in the first place. He had little doubt that sections of flooring had likely crumbled thanks to the jutting veins of red breaking through the foundation and structure surrounding him.

            He absently reached to touch his forehead, middle finger unconsciously rubbing at the scar there when he heard something. He froze, recognizing the distant sound of footsteps in the hallway outside, shattering the quiet of the prison block. The shock turned his attention from the constant murmur in his mind and he stayed stock still. The guards hadn’t been down in days; was it them? There was no longer a routine for their interruptions, so it was possible, but unlikely.

            Adrenaline shot through him as the hinges to the door of his section of cells creaked. If it was guards, he may have a good enough opportunity to escape after their leave. They would not be back down for some time, and he would not be missed. Deciding to make them aware of his presence, he spoke.

            “Is someone there?” His voice sounded strange in the room, the contortion of the poisonous blood evident as he spoke, and odd from a lack of use.

            The footsteps moved in earnest after his voice and came to a halt outside his cell. Typically the guards would leave if they heard his voice, so it was odd that they would approach at all.

            Steeling himself, he dropped his hand from his forehead and turned, anticipating a pair of Venatori.

            He was met with the last people he ever expected to see, Lavellan’s red hair a hot orange against the red of the lyrium, tinted by the same color that lined his vision. Beside her stood Dorian.

            The shock nearly sent him straight into the wall, throwing him off balance for a moment with just enough of a presence of mind to catch himself. He must be going mad, surely. He had finally broken after everything he’d been through... No, no. If he had gone insane, he would be hallucinating someone else, he would have _noticed_ , wouldn’t he? He had the presence of mind during an exorbitant amount of time in _uthenera_ , this misery would not be enough to break him. But that still did not explain _how._

            He was speaking before he realized he was, shaking his head with an ardent look. “No, this is not possible,” he declared, speaking more to himself than to either of them. Shadows from his past, shadows he saw burned on to the floor of the throne room what felt like so long ago. “We saw you _die_!”

            Lavellan’s eyebrows furrowed in response to him, shaking her head with a sad look as she approached the cell door. Removing a lock pick from her bag, she set to work to break the lock, an unnecessary move. He could do it on his own.

            He jerked his head up as Dorian spoke, “We are alive and well, in fact. Alexius displaced us in time, causing us to wind up in the future. We have just arrived, as it were.”

            He blinked. Yes, yes that made sense. Solas breathed as he straightened his posture, attempting to train his look to neutrality as the Herald stepped away from the door, it swinging open easily as she did. Alexius has been meddling with magic that disrupted the Veil, perhaps it had been time magic. It was a blast or a portal that had opened back then, was it not? Since they were here, it is likely that Alexius wanted to remove them from time entirely, perhaps, make it so that they never lived to begin with. Or, at least, the Herald. Dorian had interfered on his own.

            Squaring his shoulders, he looked to the open door and crossed the threshold after a moment, stepping out and into the block with a stiff gait. He recalled the last time he had left and furrowed his brow, turning to look between the two of them. If they were here now, that means that they had made their way through some of the castle thus far. Perhaps they could…no. This world was likely beyond him now, it would take far more energy and magic to correct than he had recovered in this prison and these two would not be willing to help. Their best chance was to send them back; they could keep _everything_ from happening. His heart clenched with hope in his chest, a real burst of strong hope that he had not felt in such a long time.

            “You can reverse the process, then?” he asked, remembering to speak. He was not in front of spirits, he reminded himself. “You can go back and obviate the events of the last year?”

            Dorian replied, “If we can get to Alexius, presuming he still has the amulet from before, yes, I believe we can.”

            Yes, Alexius likely still had the amulet, he reasoned. It was unlikely that the man would craft a new one while he was busy attempting to take over Thedas.

            He swiveled his eyes to Lavellan at her tired sigh, a pleading smirk all that was left of her usually brave and sarcastic face. Seeing everything she had fought for destroyed, seeing people she knew dead or dying, looking at the consequences of a world she could not save. The line of his mouth hardened. He could sympathize.

            “I’m glad you understood that, Solas, because I’m still not sure I get any of this,” she said, a weak attempt at a joke as she removed the pack from her back. She pulled back the top flap and removed the armor he had worn the day they had left, taken from him minutes before he had been thrown into his cell.

            “You would believe such knowledge would prevent me from making such abhorrent mistakes, but sadly, that is not the case,” he replied, fingering his collar before taking the robes from her and thrusting his arms through the sleeves. He needed to get right to the point, to help get them back, get them out. As much as he wanted to enjoy their company, they simply did not have the time. “Alexius serves a master, The Elder One,” he began, fastening the robe securely around him as he attempted to catch them up to speed. “He and the Venatori assassinated Empress Celene and used a demon army to invade the South. The chaos in Orlais allowed them that opportunity. Since then they have spread across Thedas, and many have fallen in the wake of their army. You seek Alexius, but he is but one obstacle in a barrage.”

            The dalish elf sighed as she handed him an unfamiliar white-orbed scepter. She likely did not like that news, but it was of little consequence. If they were to send them back, they needed the information to prevent it. He gripped the weapon and tested the weight of it, shifting the length of it between his hands. He met her gaze.

            “We can’t do this without you, Solas,” she said honestly, dropping the pretenses of hiding behind humor for at least a moment.

            His mouth relaxed minutely as he realized he had missed her now. She had always taken the time to talk to him and hear him out, despite her supreme lack of knowledge when it came to magic. She had not borne him any ill will in their time together, and he was glad that she was the one to gain the anchor in the stead of so many other Dalish he had met in Thedas. She had treated him with respect, something so few people offered him, and he was grateful for it.

            As quickly as his expression had changed, he changed it again. She would still yet have time to prove to him that she was worthy of his respect, and that her opinions were worth consideration. If he did anything today, it would be to make sure they return safely, no matter what it took. Prevent Thedas from falling to ruin. Prevent the Veil from being eroded in such a fashion. Prevent Fenris from…

            “If it is required to make sure none of these events come to pass, my life is yours,” he told her.

            A small frown brushed over Lavellan’s lips before she turned to look at Dorian, affixing the pack over her shoulders once more. The Tevinter rolled his shoulders and rubbed at the bare skin on his left side. Solas realized he was carrying his staff and a two-handed weapon and he took a breath, the painful topic about to be broached souring his stomach.

            Ignorant of the anxiety stirring in Solas, Lavellan asked, “Would you happen to know where Fenris is? So far we’ve only managed to find you and Fiona in the castle.”

            He gripped the staff in his hand and pulled his attention to it instead, eyeing the focus on the top before securing it behind him, using the opportunity to collect himself before answering. Hearing his name in anyone’s voice but his own felt…so strange now. When once it made him feel little beyond recognition, it now tore at his chest, the scars there threatening to push the pain back into him.

            He found his voice and answered, attempting to sound as detached as possible. “You need not burden yourself with the extra weight. It is useless.”

            The altus spoke, “Pardon?”

            He was being vague, but he couldn’t… He turned his cold eyes to meet Dorian’s questioning look. “He is not here. He will not be able to use them.”

            The Herald gasped and he turned his gaze to her, seeing the hope on her face before she spoke, “He escaped, then?”

            The irony that she would ask, the hope that filled her at the vague notion that Fenris could have…that he had…

            Solas laughed, overwhelmed entirely by the pain and despondence that threatened to eat him alive. It was a full, hard laugh that came from his core, but not one that rang with mirth. It was bitterly amused, and it shook his shoulders before he quelled it, forcing it back down and rolling his neck before the reaction could shift into the despair that sat just below the surface. His back was beginning to ache with the stiffness of it.

            “No, Fenris is…” he began, pausing to take a breath and collect himself. Say it. You accepted the truth the moment you slowed his heart to stop. “He is dead.”

            She shuddered at the news, grimacing as she flinched away from the idea. She cast her eyes down, he brow furrowed as Dorian reached to comfort her. Solas took the opportunity to pinch his eyes closed, willing away the memory of Fenris dying in his arms, his grip on his back loosening to fall as his pulse ran flat.

            If they continued to stand idle, they would only waste more time, and he had spent enough time doing nothing. “We should not tarry,” he urged, his expression back to how he wanted it to be. “Let us make our way to the magister.”

            They rid themselves of Fenris’s belongings, stacking them in the corner of the room, and pressed on. They were quiet as they moved back through the levels of the prison, Lavellan’s shoulders tight about her neck as they moved. Solas set his teeth and followed, not surprised when they moved passed the door he had used to escape towards the torture chambers, as it had been buried behind rubble. He _was_ surprised to see that they were moving towards the chambers, however, but then remembered that Leliana was there. Fiona had likely told them when they had run into her.

            “We are not to assist Fiona?” he asked, assuming they were not backtracking.

            “No,” Dorian replied after it was clear Lavellan did not wish to speak. “She um… The lyrium has immobilized her.”

            “I see,” he answered curtly, ending the conversation. It had grown out of her quickly. It surprised him, but it shouldn’t. She probably had tried to escape too many times, or perhaps they exacerbated the rock inside her to see how it could grow. Regardless, she was beyond help.

            He nearly flinched with the expectation of morose regrets and anguish when they entered the chambers, having explored it far more times in the Fade than he had in the waking world before realizing he would not hear them. He clenched his fists and ignored the discord from the veins lining the walls as they made their way down the hallway. At the sound of angry voices, Lavellan stopped and reached for her daggers. They heard irritated growl from their old spymaster follow and the Herald sprang forward and kicked open the door, the mages behind her already with staves in hand. Solas’s reflex kicked in as he cast a barrier sigil below everyone’s feet, ignoring that he would no longer need to remember to leave out a pair of feet anymore.

            The surprised Venatori lurched to attack them but Leliana was faster, wrapping her legs around his neck. He struggled against her but, when she secured her foot in the right place, she pulled and snapped his neck, the man collapsing to the stone in a heap. Another efficient death for the Nightengale.

            “You’re alive,” she murmured, her legs dropping down as the Herald sheathed her knives and grabbed the key from the man on the floor. Solas put his staff to the ground and leaned on it slightly, not yet used to so much movement.

            “That was very impressive,” Lavellan complimented as Leliana balanced herself on the flat stone. Her face was easier to see now, withered and marred by whatever tortures the Venatori subjected her to. They had endured different tactics, Solas noted, seeing the corpse-like appearance of her face, sick and uneven from hastened healing spells, likely to subject her to whatever they did to her over and over.

            His frown hardened as she replied to their leader, “Anger is a much better weapon than fear or pain.” After receiving an affirmative response to them all being armed, she broke away and walked towards Solas, meeting his gaze. He moved out of her way, allowing her to stoop in front of a chest near the door.

            Dorian was somehow feeling verbose in the face of everything. “You…aren’t curious how we got here?”

            Despite her reluctance as she strapped a quiver to her back and inspected a bow, Dorian attempted to recount to her the same information he had told Solas previously. What they had likely told Fiona.

            She cut him off abruptly, turning to shoot him a glare, “Enough! This is all just pretend to you.” She nearly snarled, “Just some future you hope never comes to pass. We _all_ lived it; we all suffered. Everything that happened here is real whether you want to believe it or not.”

            Lavellan’s eyes flicked between Leliana and Solas, and he turned back towards the door, eager to get out and on with it.

            As they turned the corner to head towards the throne room, Solas took a deep breath, spotting the door to the room that once housed Fenris. The door to the room was ajar like a few others they passed and he clenched his fists, telling himself not to look when they passed. It will do nothing for you. It will only hurt you. It will cause you pain and nothing more. And yet, as they approached, Lavellan clenching her daggers with whitening knuckles, his body disobeyed and he turned to look inside, intending to steal a quick glance.

            He stopped.

            The blood stains from the men they had killed long ago still marred the floor and walls, smattering along the finely crafted sigils drawn upon them. He could hear the hissing choir jerk inside him as he noticed the gleaming stalactite dripping with water from the ceiling, square in between the chains that still hung, the cuffs glinting with a fine dusting of the magical frost he had used to break them so long ago. There was more blood here than when they left, he noticed, yet the hanging shackles had not been replaced, since they were cracked and broken beyond usability.

            As his eyes took in the room, he noticed something lying on the ground, a small dark trinket. His entire body went rigid as his vision narrowed on the object before turning quickly and walking into the room, their trek to the throne room temporarily forgotten. He just barely heard his name floating from the doorway as he stooped down in front of the object. With shaking hands, he wrapped his fingers around the marred, smooth surface of the ancient wolf bone.

            He heaved a breath as his sight blurred and he clutched the pendant tightly, bringing it to his chest as he realized they had brought him back here. The blood on the walls, the reason it had sat unused. They had… Tried to use his… Defiled…!

            Flames burst around him and immolated the room as he cast a barrier to protect those he had left back in the hallway, confused and bewildered. Keep the fire in. Destroy everything, burn everything that remained of what they had done to him. The red discordant song pitched high and loud in his ears as he took a moment to revel in his anger. The flames soothed his burst of rage as he donned the pendant once again after so long, holding onto the line of the jaw as Fenris occasionally would in the Fade. As he had when they were trying to escape. When they had failed.

            After taking a breath and pressing his fingers to his eyes to clear them, Solas stood, banishing the fire and barrier in an instant. He looked at the walls of the room briefly as he turned, satisfied that the blood, the markings, the scratches, the stains, were all made unrecognizable by his efforts. He had not anticipated this. Having the pendant back was almost an added weight, a reminder of his burdens and his mistakes. Even if the walls were burned, it did not change what had happened. At the same time, having it back now, it represented more than it had when it had been taken from him.

            He responded automatically when the others moved to let him pass and fall back into position, not looking at any of them. “Let us move on.”

            Opening the door at the end of the hall revealed a group of Venatori and a rift. Solas cast a barrier and set to it, monitoring the mage in the room as the others went to culling the small gathering of demons near the tear. When the demons had fallen and Leliana shot two arrows through the mage’s cloak, skewering him, Solas jumped down into the level area and cast a bundle of ice in and around the man’s heart. He realized that he could use this opportunity. If they were to only kill Alexius and this mage, he could at least allow himself a small form of vengeance for Fenris.

            The man barely let out a scream as the rift slammed shut, Solas burning an angry, heated look into his eyes. He slumped over before the elf could reach him, dead almost immediately. He clicked his tongue against his teeth as he looked over the man’s face, not recognizing him. He was hoping to kill the beady-eyed one. The one Fenris killed in the Fade, the one that tried to convince him to leave him behind. He deserved no mercy.

            They scoured the area and the bodies, finding a shard of red lyrium on the mage. They quickly realized, thanks to a vague note on a different body, that the shard was part of a set to be used to enter the throne room.

            “He must have delegated the keys to his men,” Dorian surmised. Solas offered his hand to Lavellan as she held the shard away from herself.

            She turned to him with a questioning look and he blinked, stoic. “I am infected already, Herald. You need not risk your own health by carrying it.”

            With a curt nod she handed it to him, the murmur of it harmonizing somewhat more pleasantly as he came in physical contact with it.  His body craved contact, but it only made the infection worse.

            They made their way through various corridors of the castle in order to track down the remaining shards to get to Alexius. This was the first time Solas had seen these parts of the castle outside of the Fade, and the broken halls and mistreated interior troubled him even if it was no less than he had anticipated. Having spent so long in the castle’s memories gave him a feeling of familiarity within the stone halls he had walked for nearly a year. Even if he departed from them regularly to accompany Fenris in a dreamscape of his imagining, the structure in its completed and kept state had become a familiarity, even a comfort at times when he felt as if he might go mad in his cell. To see it ravaged and destroyed as it was saddened him, such history lost so quickly. It was not only the loss of the architecture itself, but the Breach engulfing the sky and tearing at the memories that cling to it. Eventually there would be nothing left, but the Herald will be ensuring that the destiny of her world does not fall to this chaos. That continued to carry him through.

            They moved through various rooms, some for study and prayer and others for gathering and focused on collecting the keys from each mage. Solas made sure that he got a look at each mage before they died, scanning them for the face he wanted to distort in impossible agony. As each one passed and his face did not appear, he began to feel antsy at the revenge he plotted. He would freeze him slowly, he decided. He was not allowed the time for the pain he would prefer to inflict on him, but at the very least intense, slow cold moving from minor to major organs would be good enough. The choir in his mind hissed pleasantly at the idea and he shook his head, following Lothriel as she approached the final door at the end of a long hallway. They had four keys with only one remaining, and this is where he would be.

            As they opened the door, before Dorian could whisper something about sneaking up on the group, Solas spotted the hooded figure and struck the bottom of his staff to the stone, sending a swirl of ice to freeze the man temporarily. He would deal with him last, and he would enjoy it. The others did not have the right to kill him.

            “We will deal with him in a moment,” he told them, sending a jagged wall of ice at the soldiers as they approached. The others obeyed without question and took the rest of the men in the room out easily, then barriers shimmering around their bodies as they dashed through the room.

            When the last man dropped, Dorian and Lavellan quickly searched the soldiers for the last key, the last mage beginning to move slowly, but freely. Solas turned his head, the red engulfing his vision in a crimson sheen of rage when he finally saw the mage’s face, the man he had been looking for this entire time. Finally, he would be allowed this.

            Tossing the staff to the side, Solas strode quickly towards the man with a rigid, feral set to his shoulders and arms. The mage met his face and recognized him, his expression flickering between irate and terrified as he moved to cast and defend himself, screaming some demand in his native language, likely to his false god. The frozen ice formed and shot towards Solas quickly, the elf moving his hand in a barrier to catch the jagged pieces before he could be skewered and thrust his hand quickly to his left. The pieces crashed into the upturned pews that had been partially broken in the fight, splintering as he moved straight passed the damage.

            He grabbed the man by the collar of his hood, fisting as much fabric into his grip as he could, glowering into his fearful eyes with the promise that he would get what he deserved and what he had earned six months ago.

            His voice turned shrill as he failed to find purchase on the floor, Solas hoisting him just out of the reach of it. “What do you want, _rattus_?” he spat, grabbing on to his outstretched arm, fire beginning to burn under his palms and into Solas’s skin. The lyrium hissed and swirled out, Solas tapping into it to keep the pain from reaching him. His struggles were pointless, he would die whether he wished to or not. Solas brought his other arm up as he prepared to cast, pinpointing generally where the man’s organs were. Which to go after first…?

            “The Elder one will kill you all!” he cried uselessly, the threat in his voice too unstable to be believable. “You will never succe--!”

            The gallbladder, then. Solas’s fingers flexed slightly and cut the man’s declarations short, turning it into a painful scream that rattled in his ears. Taking a quick breath, his nostrils flared, Solas slowly clenched his hand, curling is fingers into his palm as the cold moved from his gallbladder to his pancreas, frost traveling up through his liver and branching into his kidneys. Slow agony. Let him feel every branch of ice.

            The froze spread out from his body as the red lyrium jerked into him, ruining the finesse and precision with which he was trying to make this man suffer. He heard Dorian exclaim from behind him.

            “Maker’s breath, Solas, please!” he said, “Just end him!”

 _Mercy_? Dorian, you do not know what this man deserves. Solas clenched his fist tighter as he sped the ice up into the man’s lungs, his shrill cries quickly turning into a wretched gurgle while he struggled to breathe.

            “I agree,” Leliana spoke up, the cold distance of her voice drawing his ear more than the humanitarian plea from the other. “We do not have time for this.”

            Solas moved his gaze from the suffering mage he held to Leliana for a moment. …she was right. Yes, they were on a tight schedule as it was. There was no telling how long it would be before the Elder One moved to defend his General. They needed to slay Alexius to prevent this, make this unnecessary.

            With one last look at the man’s face as blood-tinted foam started to come from his near catatonic form. He was not content with his suffering, but it would have to be enough. Solas adjusted to grip the man’s head and jaw and, with a sharp twist, ended his suffering. The silence after the hard snap was ruined by the cadence in the back of his mind, pulling away from the red lyrium inside him.

            “You are wasting your mana,” Leliana added as Solas dropped the man. He turned as the man hit the stone with an unnatural rigidity, moving to retrieve the staff he had discarded earlier.

            “What in the Void was that about?!” Lothriel’s voice demanded from behind him. He stopped and turned to see her standing over the body. He did not meet her eyes as he wrinkled his nose at the dead mass at her feet.

            “They are lucky we do not have more time,” he replied before leaning down to take the staff in hand. The white focus had chipped slightly when he’d thrown it, but it was still perfectly usable. “Take the key so that we can get to Alexius,” he told her, brushing at the orb before securing it to his back.

            Reluctantly, she sighed and searched the man, finding the last shard easily enough. She walked to him as he stood beside Leliana and offered the final piece and he took it from her. They quickly fell back into formation and Solas turned away from the body of the man he had tortured without a second look.

            As they made their way back, Solas could feel the hatred seeping away from him slowly, melting away and leaving him looser. He was far from happy or content, but killing the man responsible for so much suffering, of both himself and Fenris, it comforted him. There remained no one alive in the castle that had any lasting contact with Fenris. The ones that caused him the most pain had fallen, and Solas was happy to have been the one to do it in his stead.

            After sliding the shards in the correct pattern on the sealed door, they stopped to the throne room and found Alexius facing away from them and into a roaring fireplace, his son on his knees at his side. Solas frowned as they came to a stop, looking over the gaunt and sunken face of Felix. He had succumbed the Blight long ago, he was simply in a state of animated dead.

            “I did not know when or where it would be,” Alexius began, his voice tired, “Nor that it would be now, but I knew. I knew I had not gotten rid of you. And here you stand.”

            Dorian frown, his mustache curling as his mouth twisted in anger, “Was it worth it? Everything that you’ve done?”

            Alexius continued to stare forward and replied, “I have tried many times to change it, to go back.” He shook his head then and turned to face them. He had not been affected by the red lyrium, at least not to any physical extent. “All we can do is wait for the end. The Elder One comes for us all.”

            Lothriel shook her head ardently, stepping forward, “No. I will fix everything that you’ve done, and I will prevent this from happening. Your ‘god’ will not stop me.”

            Solas straightened his back at her words, the confidence and pure anger that seethed from her now something he had not seen, and the version of him in her world may never see. Until his past came to light, perhaps. He noticed Leliana missing from their group and spotted her in the shadows, creeping up to the right of the throne area.

            The magister simply turned back to the fire and spoke in despondence. “All that I have fought for…betrayed… All for what?” He shook his head, “Ruin and death, that is all that I have to show for my efforts. There is nothing to be done but to wait for punishment.”

            The spymaster sprang then, grabbing Felix by his hood and hoisting him up against her, a shining dark knife poised across his throat. His father turned immediately and held out a hand to stop her, pleading. “No, Felix! Please, I’ll do anything you ask, just leave my boy with me!”

            Dorian’s eyes flicked between them and his look became even more severe. “What have you _done_ to him, Alexius?!”

            Before Alexius could answer, Leliana’s voice growled from behind the bright yellow hooded tunic of her hostage. “I want the world back,” he answered before swiftly cutting Felix’s throat.

            “No!” Alexius screamed, grabbing his staff and sending a shockwave over the platform, thrusting Leliana away. He turned to the rest of them and reached upwards, the amulet from before flickering green in his hand as a small rift opened in front of him, demons pushing through to attack.

            The battle was hard, but relatively brief. Solas took a steadying breath as he watched Lavellan and Dorian huddle around the magister’s body. They spoke amongst themselves briefly, Solas idly running his fingers along the teeth of his pendant, his staff solid in his grip. They could create their portal now and go back. Leliana stood by his side, bow in hand as they both waited for the others to finish conversing.

            Dorian announced his findings to them as he gripped the pendant in his hand, Lavellan turning to stand beside him. “If you give me an hour I should be able to send us back.”

            Solas frowned while Leliana replied sharply, “An _hour_?! We do not have that much time! You must go now!”

            As if on cue, a terrifying roar could be heard howling from outside the castle, the dust and debris shaking the walls of the throne room. The hum hiked in a sharp crescendo in Solas’s mind as it did, the lyrium responding to the cry of whatever creature circled them outside. The Elder One, or something similar and he grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head, bringing his hand away from the necklace to press shortly against his forehead.

            They would need to defend them at any cost. At all costs. He had resigned himself to this fate. It was better this way, he reasoned.

            He looked at Lothriel now, snagging her gaze easily as he straightened his posture, an old confidence and command coming over him now. If he was to go to his death, he would make sure it was not in vain. “I will hold them off as long as I can.”

            Lothriel looked as if she’d been struck by him. “What!? No! I will not let you commit suicide, Solas!” She turned form him to her former spymaster, “Nor you, Leliana!”

            The woman in the violet cowl nearly smirked at the idea of dying. “Look at us, Herald,” she said, gesturing between herself and Solas. “We are already dead.”

            Lothriel’s determined look cracked, her eyebrows arching in as she broke her gaze away. Even if it was difficult to hear, Leliana was right. Solas kept his eyes on the Herald, the red around his vision worsening as they stood. When they met eyes again, he spoke.

            “You must save your world, _lethallan_ ,” he urged. Her expression melted into something nearly revenant at the sound of the elven term. It seemed to comfort her. He had watched her struggle through similar anxiety and fear that he had when he had awoke in Thedas at the onset. She deserved some comfort, comfort he had found in spirits.

            He thought of those waiting back in her world, the ones who had yet to die, and that could still be saved. He thought of Fenris as he could remember him in the throne room nearly a year ago. Angry, shimmering with the bright white light of lyrium in his skin. Determined.

            “Make sure this never happens to him, to any of us,” he told her.

            Her expression shifted subtly, the pieces looking to begin coming together in her head when Leliana interrupted her, snapping her eyes from him.

            “Go, cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows,” she said.

            “And I draw breath,” Solas added, adjusting the staff in his grip, looking over all of their faces one last time. He nodded to Leliana and turned swiftly, making his way back to the doors that they had come from, back to the hall. Leliana lingered behind him, the last line of defense for when he fell.

            He closed the door behind him, facing out into the empty hall. He heard a distant crack before he felt it, the song pulling at him towards an unseen point beyond the walls before a rift split open not far in front of him. He cast a barrier as demons pushed through, a crackling Pride demon behind a few shades and a terror demon.

            Throwing all caution to the wind now, caution that was no longer necessary, he delved straight and unflinchingly into the red lyrium inside him. It harmonized pleasantly in his head now that he was not resisting it as he began to cast, drawing on the poisonous mana to throw hard, wide bursts of ice and fire, drawing from the Fade that encircled him to throw stone and bursts of energy. This was fighting to stall, to buy as much time as he could. The sooner he fell, the sooner they would get to Lavellan, and he could not allow that to happen.

            Wraiths came at him from afar and he dismantled them, fighting to keep his head in the game as the lyrium, panic, and anger threatened to tear at him, scratch through his throat and his eyes. Everything itched, his skin tight and on fire as he punctured the middle of a wraith only to see two more replace it. Fire, ice, fire, destroy, delay, need time, kill them, _kill them_.

            A wraith’s projectile finally hit him and he stumbled. He focused, remembered the fear and panic of the scene that Lavellan and Dorian would return to. The fresh scorches of magic and stone on the ground, the realization that they were dead and gone, that he and Fenris had been alone. He narrowly blocked the terror demon as it swiped at him, tearing shreds into his arm in the process. As the blood streamed down and he seared the flesh from its shrieking maw, he remembered the moment the fear left Fenris. He had growled fiercely, gripping the broad-bladed sword in his hand as his eyes zeroed on the magister that once again stood between him and freedom. That threatened his since of belonging, his way of life. He remembered how fearful Alexius looked when he saw him, a former slave still willing to fight to keep himself free of imprisonment. He had thought him brave then, but had not expected less from the man.

            The terror demon, face bloodied and charred from the fireball disappeared into the ground as Solas stepped out of the way of a chain lightning attack from the Pride demon he had barely scratched. He gritted his teeth, fire boiling in his gut at a higher frequency than any of the pain that radiated from his body and shot a wave of fire at it, catching on to its hard skin. He felt the bubbling underneath him and stepped out of the way, momentarily distracted by his attempt to dodge and missed a shade come ‘round and knock him back, just in time for the spindly limbs of the demon to tear through him from below.

            He cried out when its fingers drove through him and slammed him to the ground, blood pouring from him as soon as he hit the stone underneath. No, no, _not yet_. He can still fight! He staggered to his feet and leaned on his staff, throwing ice in a wild arc over the group of demons followed swiftly by more Fade magic. Remember you need to be alive. Remember you have to save them. You have _a purpose to accomplish!_

            The creature’s fingers had gone straight through him, however. His spray attacks were not well focused, and the pain of being lanced in multiple places along with the red lyrium was driving him closer to his knees. He could feel his clothes soaking through as the terror demon swiped at him again and he was unable to react in time to block. He collided face first with the ground and coughed, still gripping the staff until a large weight came down on his hand and broke the staff along with his fingers.

            He hollered and struggled, realizing the Pride demon was there and lit the foot on fire, attempting to follow the feeling of the demon rather than his sight to bring the flames licking up the creature’s leg. It roared in pain and moved back, and Solas brought himself to his knees to scramble away, eyes blearing from red pain. He imagined strong glowing arms and determined teeth and pushed himself to stand just in time to be swept up in the Pride demon’s claws. The staff fell from his wounded hand as it hoisted him up, the creature’s four pairs of eyes glaring into his.

            Vertigo swept over Solas as he moved to cast at the demon’s face at such close range, only to feel fingers constrict around his torso. He screamed then, his casting halted by fracturing ribs and blood rushing from the wounds in his stomach and lung. Blackness took him for a moment and when he came to, the demons were already through the double doors.

            He hissed as Leliana danced around the demons, throwing arrow after arrow at the demons’ advance, a portal beginning to open in front of Dorian further ahead with Lavellan looking anxious at his side. No, they were so close, he could not allow them to fail. He would die with purpose and victory.

            It was not a spell he was ready for, in terms of strength or mana, but it would help, it had to, even minutely. He brought his arms around and latched onto the forearm of the Pride demon that gripped him and took a breath. The demon shuddered as the lyrium overtook him and Solas’s eyes shined brilliantly, obscuring him in the red choir as he drew from it with all he had left.  It heightened and pitched into a shrill chord as he turned the arm of the demon to stone, petrifying it up to the elbow in a last show of defiance, of strength, of purpose.

            He felt the growl tremor through the stone limb and move before the weight of the demon’s hand came down on top of him. He heard the demon, Dorian calling, Lavellan rushing through the portal, Leliana gasp before—

 _Snap_.

 

            The waves were loud here, the tide high as the sun set in the distance, casting orange and red tones along the sands of the beach. Gulls cawed from far away, circling back west towards the rocky cliffs that hung over the salty water, their nests kept on sharp peaks along the edges of the crags. He stood on the sands, the grains indistinct as they slipped through his toes, across the arches of his feet.

            He saw the effects before he felt them. Waves of color surged over the evening skies, a ripple moving to blend the pigments together in a swirl of warmth that shuddered like a war banner in the wind. The sun grew to spread over the ocean, the inky black of evening thrust into a mixture of green and greys. He frowned when it reminded him of the ribbons over his orb but smiled when instead he decided they were more like his eyes than anything else.

            He heard the loud crack blow a current across the Fade and through his being, changing the vibration of his aura to a rapid wave. The scene all resonated together in one last harmonious note, singing together in one resonating final pitch before the sands burst open and there was nothing left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is you guys. The ending. I can't believe I finally finished something. It feels really great, and I'm just sorry you all had to wait so long to read it.
> 
> I tried to wrap up as much as I could, but there are plenty of open spaces still left that could be explored in one-shots. I won't get over Klexos-EV just yet, so expect occasional single fics that explore other dreams these two sad wolves had during their short time together.
> 
> Thanks again to Onyona for being great and sticking with me through these. And of course we still have Klexos to get through, so the story isn't over yet! Just this part.
> 
> Comments and critique are appreciated, and everything you all has sent me honestly keeps me going. Thank you!


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